


Night over Gondor

by Melian12



Category: The Lord of the Rings - All Media Types, The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Minor Character Death, POV Original Female Character, Unplanned Pregnancy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-08
Updated: 2017-07-09
Packaged: 2018-09-15 20:49:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 28
Words: 55,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9256493
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Melian12/pseuds/Melian12
Summary: After long hesitating, Arwen finally decides to sail to Valinor and leave Aragorn in Middle-earth. When his great love abandons him, he is devastated. But then he meets Nienor, whose real name is Lúthien, and upon whom the Valar have laid an even crueler fate. Not only that her whole family was killed by a host of Orcs twelve years ago, she also carries a heavy burden: She is the last of the Atharim, a people of healers, which is said to be lost since the First Age. In their grief, the two people feel understood and comforted by one another. Together they decide to join the Fellowship of the Ring. Aragorn feels the hour of his doom drawing near, Lúthien wants only one thing: revenge for her murdered family…





	1. Prologue

**Author's Note:**

> I hope my English isn't too bad as I am no native speaker  
> This fic was originally written in German and I translated it afterwards  
> If you spot any linguistic mistakes, please let me know :)  
> Feel free to leave any comments or kudos :)

**Prologue**

“No! You can’t be serious!” In bewilderment he looked into her gentle blue eyes. She released his hand, her voice was shaking when she replied: “I’m afraid I am. There is no other way. But I will never forget you and our time together, you have to believe me!” she whispered, “Our love will always be in my heart.” With this, she turned and went away hastily. He shouldn’t have to watch her crying. She couldn’t have managed to look into his for eyes any longer, the pain expressed in them was too great. She also didn’t see him falling onto his knees, despaired and abandoned, and she didn’t hear his desperate cry: “Why? Why do you leave me? Why now!?” She had loved him, this fact already hurt like a dagger in her heart. But for abandoning him in Middle-earth, she would never be able to forgive herself this. But she had made her choice. There was no going back now.


	2. A Strange Meeting

It’s been raining for two days now already. I am sitting on one of the lower branches of a big tree and watch the dripping wet forest around me. Everything seems so peaceful, the whole world is filled with the quiet sound of pouring rain. This silence, this peace… Nobody would believe that the world stands on the very brink of ruin. But in the East and South war is gathering. Orcs were seen up here in the North again, the first for many hundreds of years on this side of the Misty Mountains.

I pull my dark green, heavy cloak tighter around myself. Winter will come soon, it’s late October already, and in spring, if not sooner, war will have started even here in the North. I look up at the lead-grey sky. It must be noon already. I’m just about to jump down the tree and set off for Rivendell, where I am invited to a secret council the day after tomorrow. But then, a man comes into my field of view. I remain sitting on my branch, motionless. Despite this guy seeming to be in a strange mood, he doesn’t look really dangerous, more like in need of help. I watch him sitting down under a great spruce in spite of all the wetness, his head is resting on his knees. Wait – he isn’t crying, is he? This is very odd indeed.

Now I drop off the tree nevertheless. My landing isn’t quiet at all, but he isn’t looking my way. Carefully I walk over to him. Theoretically this could be a trap… but if it was one, then there would rather be sitting a weeping young woman than an obviously desperate man. I stop perhaps two meters in front of him and think about whether to talk to him or not. He, by the way, has either still not noticed me, or he simply doesn’t care. Well, then I can just as well speak to him.

“ _Mae govannen!_ What are you doing here, in the middle of the forest in this terrible weather?” I’m trying to let my voice sound surprised, he doesn’t have to know that I have watched him for some time already. He now raises his view up to me. The first thing coming to my attention are his eyes. They are in a stormy grey, but the look in them is so distraught, it almost makes me fear. And well, it’s raining, but the wet in his face are definitely tears.

“ _Mae govannen_ ,” he murmurs sadly in reply. I get some steps closer towards him and then sit down on the ground right in front of him. “Can I help you, somehow?” I ask. He looks down again. “I don’t suppose that anyone could help me.” All right then, that’s a no. For some time, we just sit in the rain, next to each other, and remain silent, until he suddenly says: “My fiancée has abandoned me.” Oh, so this is the reason. Well, then it is understandable why he’s that depressed.

Again, we remain silent, sitting in the damp cold. He has laid his head down on his arms again. I look at his long, dark, dripping wet hair. Water is also trickling down my very face, dripping from my hair and into my eyes. He has to be a very tolerant man. I mean, he just lets his ex-fiancée run off and weeps about his loss here in the forest. Most other men I know would try to revenge this somehow. This is almost admirable.

But unfortunately I realize now, that I have to keep going. Keeping on sitting here in the forest won’t help any of us, and I have to be in Rivendell by tomorrow. I get up and tell him: “I’m going now. Maybe our paths will lead us together once more, if this is the Valar’s will. It was a pleasure for me to meet you,” I say. “But unfortunately I have to make for Rivendell now.” At this name, he gets onto his feet, and he blushes. “You go to Imladris?” he asks. At my nodding, he looks at me, embarrassed: “I would be more than thankful, if you wouldn’t mention this scene here to any mortal or immortal you meet there.” “As you wish… but I don’t even know your name,” I tell him. He bows and says: “I am called Strider. And who are you?” “For most people, I am Nienor.” He only seems to notice right at this moment, that I’m actually a woman. But I don’t care about that.

I bow, then I turn around and quickly disappear between the trees. ‘Strider’, I think, ‘Let’s see, if we will meet each other again.’


	3. The Shadow of the Past

That my real name isn’t Nienor, but Lúthien this Strider needn’t really to know.

And Strider, I mean, no one is called like this. For sure, this isn’t his real name, too. And, by the way, I haven’t been called Lúthien now for ages. Since my family’s dead… but that was twelve years ago. I don’t like the thoughts of it. Better concentrating on the way that is now laid before me.

But the day will come, when I’m going to take revenge on the servants of the Dark Tower for those murders, this I have sworn.

In the evening I reach Rivendell. I haven’t been there for many a year. To be honest, I haven’t been there since my sister was lost, the only member of my family that was still living after the orc attack. If the invitation hadn’t been written by Elrond himself, and if he hadn’t asked for my coming so strongly, I would never have entered here.

But this council seems to concern the fate of all Middle-earth, and this is something I am particularly interested in, so I will have to overcome my pain.

The next evening I go for a little walk, I want to be on my own for some minutes. But here in Rivendell everything reminds me of my sister, every room, every pillar, even the few flowers that are still in blossom seem to have her face, and all those things seem to speak to me about her.

My little sister Míriel… I withdraw to a quiet corner, hoping of being alone with my thoughts for a while. When the Orcs came to attack our village, Míriel and I were in the forest searching for herbs. We came too late: The cottages were burned down and all the villagers lay in the ashes, slain.

The only things we could save are the weapons of our family that now belong to me: a sword, on which’s pommel the emblem of my family is engraved, and two long knives. They are forged from elvish steel, not richly decorated, but extraordinary good work. Those weapons had been buried under our door step when the attacks on our village became more often. Father didn’t want them to fall into enemy hands. We knew this and so took them with us, but also to defend ourselves. We had learned how to fight, our brothers had taught us, and so we decided quickly: There would be no future for us here, so we would try to make our way to Rivendell.

Míriel… she was so happy when we finally reached Imladris, after several weeks in the wilderness. Tears are burning in my eyes. “Why?” I whisper to the empty air in front of me, hoarse and flat. “Why her? Why not me?”

But suddenly, I jump, a door is slammed and steps are drawing near to the corner where I am sitting. I look up through the thick curtain of my hair and am nearly shocked: Strider! He seems to have noticed me, too. “Nienor!” Amazed he looks at me, and I am at the least as surprised as he is to meet him here.

“What are you doing here?” he asks me. “I told you I would go to Rivendell, did I not?” I reply a bit saucily. “I know this, but why are you here, in this remote room? All the others are at the banquet in the main hall.” “All the others, except you.” I counter, and at least this makes him smile. To break the ice totally, I ask him: “So, have you come for this council tomorrow, too?” He nods, but at the same time he seems to be pretty surprised by the fact that I also am invited.

Then, there is this silence again. None of us knows what to say, but at the same time we both do not want to stop this begun talk already. I clear my throat: “Well… then… I perhaps… I will go to watch the stars for a little while…” I get to my feet, but before I have even left the room, Strider calls out: “Nienor! Wait!” I turn around, almost reluctantly. I would prefer to be alone now, or better: with my sister, at least with the thoughts of her. But when I now look upon him, as he stands alone and lost in the middle of the room and asks almost shyly: “Might I perhaps… accompany you...? If you want it…?” I nod. I feel sorry for him, and some company surely won’t do any bad to me.

In silence we walk through the quiet colonnades and night-covered gardens. There is a slight scent of summer left in the cool air, and the intensive odor of the rain. In the stars I can read that midnight is long over. The sun is rising in maybe one hour. We both hesitate to break the silence between us, although I feel that we both would rather prefer to talk.

Eventually, he sighs, then he says quietly: “If I have disturbed you before, whatever you were about to do, then I am sorry, honestly.” I smile and tell him: “No, not at all.” We stop on a kind of balcony, looking down to the courtyard behind the great gate. How many days and nights I have stood here, waiting for my sister who never returned, I ask to myself. “Where are you, Míriel?” I whisper to the dark.

“Who is Míriel?” Strider asks. Oh, by all the Valar, I had almost forgotten him standing next to me. Because I don’t answer he murmurs: “You miss her, don’t you? But I don’t mean to offend you,” he adds with a quick sidelong glance at me, but I reply: “I guess, you have a right to know… at least, you have told me about your own grief, too.”

I take a deep breath. No crying! I haven’t told anyone about Míriel yet. The Elves in Rivendell knew about her, and I haven’t felt close enough to anyone yet to confide him or her about my story. “She is my sister… or better, _was_ my sister. Twelve years ago we came here together, after our village was raided by Orcs and all the people were killed.”

Now the tears run down my cheeks. I put my arms on the railing, the head resting in my hands, and slowly let myself down on the floor. The pain hurts me after a whole yén still as much as at the first day.

Strider kneels now next to me on the dusty clay bricks. “Nienor”, he whispers reassuringly. “Everything is all right.” No! Nothing is all right, I think for myself, Míriel will never come back. And the worst thing is, that I will never know what exactly happened to her. “Míriel!” I whisper hoarsely.

And then, for a second, my muscles become stiff and I am almost shocked. Strider has put his hand on my shoulder. “The night must fade, and one day you will see, there is still light. Do not weep!” he says quietly. But hearing these words, I have to cry even more.

His hand is still resting on my shoulder, but this doesn’t feel uncomfortable at all. I am glad to have someone who comforts me. Sobbing I crawl into his arms. He simply holds me, and despite he seems to be a bit overtaxed with the whole situation, I have the strong feeling that he understands me.

I guess we would have been sitting here until the next morning, me crying and him helpless, but suddenly we hear voices in front of the gate below us. This makes me think reasonable again. I sit up. “Oh, almighty Valar! I am so sorry!” I whisper. “Oh no, you don’t have to apologize for this. Last morning, in the forest, you were there for me.”

We can hear now, that some people walk into the courtyard, and curiously we both have a look over the railing. There are some elvish guards accompanying a man. That man is wearing expensive clothes, as far as I can judge this in the sparse light of the torches. But they look pretty worn-out, too. He must have had a long and dangerous journey before he finally reached Rivendell. He arrives on foot, but is dressed for a journey by horse. This somehow surprises me.

I have a quick look on Strider, but whatever he thinks, I cannot guess it: His face is like hewn out of stone. With a sigh, I turn away and look up at the sky. The night grows old, dawn is at hand. Therefore, I take my leave of Strider to get a few hours sleep at last. It appears as he would think this wise, too.

Together we go the way to my room. Well, actually, my and Míriel’s room, comes to my mind. I can feel the tears burning in my eyes again, but I manage to blink them away. For this night, I think, laying crying in Strider’s arms one time was enough. By the way, he is still walking next to me. And some corridors later we find out that our rooms are only some doors apart.

Now we are both standing in the corridor, a bit embarrassed, and don’t really know how to say goodbye. Then Strider clears his throat: “You will surely learn of it tomorrow in the council… but I want you to know it, though. My name is not Strider, as you’ve probably guessed already.” I nod only, grinning, and he continues: “I am Aragorn, son of Arathorn.”

What?! This shall be the heir of the Lost Realm? Even I have already heard about him, but I never had guessed I could meet him some time. And never ever I had thought of a situation like our meeting in the forest two day ago or the scene before at the balcony.

I'm shaking my head imperceptibly. “Also my name is not Nienor.” I answer to him. “I call myself that name since the loss of my family. My real name is Lúthien, but I left it behind twelve years ago in the ashes of my village and the blood of my kin. And so Lúthien and Míriel became Nienor and Níniel.” He nods, understandingly, and I end my confession: “But still, don’t wonder if you get to know another name for me in the council tomorrow. Elrond was the only one whom we entrusted our real names to. All the others here don’t know them.” He nods again, and then says: “All right, so we’re going to meet at the council tomorrow… Lúthien.”

Before I turn away, I can see him smiling at me, a smile full of warmth and confidence. Somehow, it is reassuring to have someone I can trust, someone who understands me, but also needs me to get comfort himself. This night, I sleep better than I have done for a very long time.


	4. The Council of Elrond

The council, starting the next morning, but lasting till the late afternoon, is pretty rank. I can’t describe it otherwise. What I get to hear here… good Valar!

The introductions, if you can call it this, were pretty interesting already. The blond Elf with green cloak is from Mirkwood, he is Legolas, son of Thranduil. From the Grey Havens and, of course, Rivendell, there are various other Elves. Dwarves from Erebor are there, too, Glóin and his son Gimli, and two Hobbits. The older one must be Bilbo, I’ve heard of him before the time Míriel and I came to Rivendell, the younger one seems to be his nephew Frodo. He occurs to be the most important one here in this group, except, perhaps, Elrond, Gandalf and Aragorn. These three guys are here, too, and the Man Strider –I mean, Aragorn – and I watched arriving here last night. Elrond introduces him as “Boromir, son of Denethor of Gondor” and tells us that he has come here for advice. Well, and with the steward’s son we’re already through all those important personalities…

And the only one not fitting here is me, of course. I wonder what made Elrond invite me. He must have his reasons, but it would be kind of him to bring them home to me. But I should stop complaining, all those politics that are discussed here are highly topical of great interest to me. Most of the time I’m only listening and – unfortunately – I see my presumptions affecting the war being confirmed. The Dark Lord gathers his troops in the South and East, we have run out of allies and the few remaining to us are mostly already in a state of war or right on the brink of it.

The sun rises ever higher. It is the 25th of October, but despite it is late in the year it is getting warm and the high humidity after the lots of rain in the last few days takes care of the rest. I doze off slowly but steadily, and certainly I would have fallen asleep here in the council of Elrond, if not for the subjects of discussion, that take a sudden and pretty thrilling turn.

Elrond takes half the day to give us report on how the Ring of Power was won and Sauron defeated at the end of the Second Age. Then there is Aragorn talking about his hunt for Gollum, Boromir tells us about a strange prophecy he and his brother dreamt of and that led him to Rivendell. After that, we listen to Bilbo’s story, how the Ring was found, but I know all that already.

For me it is clear that we should never even try to use the Ring, no way. After all it was forged by Sauron himself. And everything else can be guessed by anyone who is at least a bit cleverer. So I decide to switch off for a while, but suddenly my thoughts are brought back to the present faster than I like:

“ _Ash nazg durbatulûk, ash nazg gimbatul, ash nazg thrakatulûk agh burzum-ishi krimpatul._ ” Almighty Valar! Gandalf isn’t just – wait, what language was the one he actually just spoke? It sounded like… “– nonetheless I do not ask your pardon, Master Elrond. For if that tongue is not soon to be heard in every corner of the West, then let all put doubt aside that this thing is indeed what the Wise have declared: the treasure of the Enemy, fraught with all his malice, and in it lies a great part of his strength of old.”

Now I am fully awake again. One Ring to rule them all, One Ring to find them, One Ring to bring them all and in the Darkness bind them. The One Ring was found, and unfortunately Sauron somehow got wind of it and is now seeking for it.

Of course, we mustn’t let him get it back, no way. But if, we all would be lost, and Middle-earth would fall into darkness for an unforeseeable period of time. The discussion about the Ring continues, about Gollum, Aragorn’s hunt for him, his captivity by the wood Elves in Mirkwood and – as Legolas is afraid he has to tell us – his escape from there, already three months ago.

Gandalf now tells us about Saruman’s treason, but this gets a little bit too boring for me. It’s just, isn’t it enough for us to know, we have one ally less and instead one more enemy? I would rather prefer if we could just make up a decision, or we will never get on, despite the fact that Gandalf and Elrond have already pledged for the destroying of the Ring.

And finally, the council agrees to that. Suicide mission to Mordor, what could be better? And – surprise – Elrond almost cannot handle with the crowd of voluntaries who want to take on that task. We sit in a circle, silent and not daring to look at one another.

In my thoughts, I have gone further already. I will go back to my beloved wilderness this evening. The wide and almost impassable forests of Rhudaur have become  a second home for me. And this second home I will defend against the gathering dark, this I have decided a long time ago. I will die alone, as a resistance fighter, persecuted, an outlaw, but free at least.

Bilbo, the old Hobbit, has already offered himself, he said, he after all has “started this affair”, but all just said he had already done enough to make the story go on, so he can now spend his retirement quiet and happy here in Imladris. I am happy for him. Perhaps I will see him again some time. But this is very unlikely, Rivendell is a fortress, which will have fallen after three years at the latest. And whether I will life that long is pretty improbable, too.

Yet this seems to be the fate of our time: to fall beneath the Black Shadow, or to die, sword in hands, in the name of a freedom, that after us probably no one will know anymore.

But while I am still lost in such encouraging thoughts, there is a sudden movement in the assembly: Frodo, the Hobbit, I had the least expected to do so, has offered to take the Ring. He would try to get into Mordor, though he doesn’t even know the way. I really admire his courage.

The others look upon him full of respect, too, and Elrond says: “I think that this task is appointed for you, Frodo; and if you do not find a way, no one will. It is a heavy burden. So heavy that none could lay it on another. But if you take it freely, I will say that you choice is right; and though all the mighty Elf-friends of old, Hador, and Húrin, and Túrin, and Beren himself were assembled together, your seat should be among them.”

I look at this Hobbit, shaking my head, and wondering, what fate has to be laid upon him. And what it yet has ready for him.


	5. A Discovered Heritage

A few days later, I get to know that Aragorn had the idea to accompany Frodo, and that he also had the great idea to take me with him. “In my opinion, every people should be represented in the Fellowship of the Ring. And you, Lúthien, seem to be a great warrior, by the way. We need people with such skills.”

All right, I feel honored to hear those compliments, but much as I would like to join the company, I still have doubts: “No one, except you, would vote for this. I don’t hold any exalted rank, I wasn’t sent to Rivendell by any king and besides all those reasons, I am a woman.” “I still would like to have you by my side…”, he murmurs, more talking to himself than to me, before adding: “And anyway, Lord Elrond would also like to see you with the Fellowship.”

My jaw drops in amazement. First he invites me to this council, and now this: Elrond himself asks me for my support in this matter. I cannot help feeling that something is up. Not only that he treated Míriel and me like princesses at our arrival here a _yén_ ago, now he also seems to take me for a significant political person and a hero or something like this.

“Huh? What makes him think so?” I manage to ask after a while. Aragorn shrugs his shoulders. “It would be best if you asked himself.”

I really should. I mean, Elrond may have strong reason for all this, but why then he doesn’t talk to me about everything? And anyway, why does Aragorn know everything, but I don’t?

I look around, confused. We're sitting on the floor of the hall where we have met for the second time. The stone tiles are cold, but not uncomfortable. Since the council, we spend almost every free minute in here.  We barely talk to each other, except when crying about our losses, but still there is this feeling of closeness to each other.

Today we are reading, for several hours already. I have found an interesting book about gondorian myths and legends in Elrond’s library, and Aragorn got some historical documents about the end of the Second Age. Anyhow, something that gives him some background information about our recent situation. And that’s why we came to talk about the Fellowship of the Ring and so he told me about his plan to join the fellowship.

I really understand him, he has the feeling that his sword would be needed in this war. And I also know what is so serious about his sword: He also intends to reclaim the throne of Gondor. Well, after all, he is the rightful heir of Elendil.

And this is the point: He is the heir to the throne of Gondor, Boromir at least is the steward's son, Legolas and Gimli go to represent their people, Frodo is the Ringbearer, the other Hobbits are his friends, and Gandalf… I mean, he’s just Gandalf. If anyone was involved in this whole Ring affair, it would be him.

And what should I do amongst all those males? Who have, unlike me, good reasons for accompanying this journey? I would rather feel pretty like a square peg in a round hole.

Nevertheless I go to see Elrond this evening. Not because I would be keen on joining the Fellowship, I simply want to know how he suggests this could be of any interest to me.

But now, I don’t know right where to start. I haven’t spoken to him for a pretty long time… since Míriel disappeared, twelve years ago. And our parting wasn’t that… friendly. But it seems as he has forgiven me, at least he doesn’t show any sign of anger so far:

“Lúthien! I am happy that you asked me for this conversation.” “Well, to be honest… I am here because Aragorn told me about your suggestion. You know, that I should accompany the Fellowship of the Ring. And so I wondered what exactly made you think so. And if I am quite honest, I also wondered about this when I got your invitation to this council.” I confess to him.

Elrond smiles a little, but he also seems to hesitate before finally giving me an answer: “You have acquired a reputation of being a good healer, Lúthien. I thought someone like you would probably pack into the company very well.”

Well, I’m afraid that at this point he’s right. Me and my sister were taught a lot about healing, herbs and also the splinting of fractures and tending of wounds by our mother, and our skills in healing were almost equal to the Elves’ skills here in Rivendell. But… does Elrond really think I would be that useful for the others? I mean, at least Gandalf and Aragorn are with the company, and they are healers at least as good as me.

“I am not sure whether I really want to join the Fellowship.” I reply honestly. He gives me a searching look. “Lúthien, daughter of Idril, do you fight shy of this challenge? You aren’t afraid of the danger, for this I know you too well. But what else is it then, holding you back?”

Well, I really don’t know it myself. I just have this strong feeling, I don’t want to go this way. And this is also what I tell Elrond. He simply shakes his head, just as a sympathetic father would do, who just wants the best for his child.

“Lúthien Nienor, you don’t know who you are. Your mother would have wanted you to join the Fellowship. She would never have accepted the last of your people hiding in the forests. She would have pledged you to go.”

“Do not dare to mention my mother!” I spit. How should he know what she wanted me to do and what not? She has died more than twelve years ago! But what’s the meaning of this, ‘the last of your people’? Am I no human?

“What people do you mean?” I finally ask him after a short while. He hesitates just for a moment, before he answers: “You are one of the Atharim, children of Este, who were given the task by Este and Lórien to alleviate the suffering in this world a little.”

Atharim? I have heard of this people of healers, but I always have thought they have been a myth from the First Age. And if they even ever had existed, that they fell into shadows long ago. Children of Este, helper of Nienna, the healers out of the West.

Now I know why Elrond wants me to accompany the Fellowship. And at the same time, I am even more afraid of joining the company.

But as if this wouldn’t be enough already Elrond now adds: “Lúthien, you are the last of your people. That’s why I want you to represent it in the Fellowship of the Ring.”


	6. Decisions

Lúthien Nienor, last of the Atharim. How am I supposed to alleviate the suffering in this word while I’m going to war? 

Even if I am able to heal, my hand is rather made to wield a sword. And this my sword I won’t be able to keep calm if Middle-earth stands upon the very brink of destruction. 

Sighing I let myself down onto the cool stone floor of the hall. The last two weeks I spent most of my time by avoiding to see or speak anybody, and trying to make up a decision, but in vain. What means that you still don’t know whether you would prefer to die here or somewhere down in the South, I think sarcastically. 

Middle of November, the first snow hasn’t fallen yet, but it surely soon will have. Elrond has said that I would have some more weeks to decide, for the Fellowship will be able to leave Rivendell only when all the scouts and messengers have come back, and this will be in December for the earliest. 

Well, honestly, to have a lot of time left doesn’t help me a bit to make this decision. And this is why I have come here: I hope that Aragorn will come, too. Perhaps he can tell me what to do… all right, he will tell me to go with him, and I know this. Anyway, it will probably be easier for me to decide after I have discussed it with someone else. 

I hope he will come. But I also can’t take offence at his absence, at least I have totally ignored him for the last two weeks. 

I’m sitting in the room for hours, lost in thoughts, but Aragorn doesn’t come. Finally I give up. I get up and turn towards the door. Perhaps he is in his room, and if not, I am confident to run into him somewhere else. I

am just about to leave the room, when the door on the other side of the hall opens. I jump, turn around and look upon – Aragorn, who seems to be as shocked as I am. “Lúthien! Where have you been the last weeks? I haven’t heard anything of you since your meeting with Lord Elrond!” 

I blush. “Well, he has told me some… details about my family about which I wanted to think first.” I try to explain. “He said my mother would have wanted me to join the Fellowship. And he also told me I was...” I stop. How do you explain this best? 

“He said you were the last of the Atharim, right?” 

Aragorn’s words are quite fitting. For a moment I wholly forgot that he has spent the last two weeks almost constantly with Gandalf, and Gandalf, if he wasn’t planning something with Aragorn, discussed a lot of stuff with Elrond. And anyway, I wouldn’t be surprised if Aragorn had learned all details of my origin and my family’s history from Elrond himself. 

I manage to nod. I am pretty angry with Elrond at the moment. He really can’t keep a secret, can he? Again tears are burning in my eyes. Aragorn who has stepped closer meanwhile also seems to notice that. “It’s all right.” He says. “Elrond only told me this because I have asked him why he wanted you to become part of the Fellowship. So he told me that in his opinion the Queen of the Atharim would have earned a place in the community.” 

Q ueen? The word hits me like a sting into my heart. “Queen?! But, hell, of whom? I thought I was the last one?” I ask in astonishment.

I really try to sound self-confident, but unfortunately my voice is shaking a little bit. Right, a little bit more, but I guess that in my situation this is more than understandable, isn’t it? “No, please, don’t cry.” Aragorn whispers. I fall back to the ground. 

I clench my teeth. No, I won't cry.  Then I look up at him. “In your opinion, what should I do?” I ask flatly, despite I already know his answer. And as I have expected it he says: “I still pledge you to come with us. But if you don’t want to do this, then perhaps you really rather should stay here. You have to follow your heart, this is the only right way.” 

Hm. Well, he is definitely right. The only problem is, at the moment I really don’t know what my heart wants me to do. So next question: “Please, tell me honestly: What do you think would my mother have wanted me to do?” 

Now he sits down on the floor next to me. “ I am sure your mother had never wanted you to do anything against your will.” Great, that’s helpful. “Well, the problem is just, it isn’t against my will to come with you, but also it isn’t exactly against my will to stay in Rivendell.” I sigh. 

“I really have no idea what to do.”

 

Lying in my bed this evening, I am happy about Aragorn’s decision in my stead. He simply took my arm, dragged me to Elrond and told him that I would very much like to join the Fellowship. Right in this moment I would very much have liked to chop his head off, but now I am pretty happy about this decision, 

I mean, my decision to leave his head where it belongs to as well as his decision to decide in my stead to accompany the Fellowship of the Ring. Our departure is likely to be in a whole month, perhaps even later. So, in case of emergency I still could change my opinion. But at the moment, I have quiet agreed with my fate. 

And I also mentioned something else: If Sauron was defeated, my family would be finally revenged. So I think I have no other choice, have I? And now I have an idea of what is about to happen to me, at least partly.


	7. The Fellowship of the Ring

It was late December already, when we finally left Imladris at nightfall. And of course Aragorn had to promise me not to tell anyone a single word about my family and my origins. 

For some weeks we walked along the west side of the Misty Mountains and then we wanted to try getting on the other side somewhere in the south. Where exactly, this wasn’t decided till the last evening. Boromir wanted to get through the Gap of Rohan, and if not for Saruman I also would have wanted to go that way. But nonetheless he has betrayed us and is now himself looking for the One Ring, so I don’t like the thought of walking right past his doorstep. 

But Gandalf’s idea, walking through the Mines of Moria, isn’t really pleasant, too. If I got this right, the dwarves haven’t gotten any news from Balin for years now, or did Glóin tell us anything else in the council? Even if Gandalf still insists on his opinion, there could still be dwarves living in Moria, I can’t get rid of the feeling that there is not everything all right there. Well, then it’s only Aragorn’s route left, the Pass of Caradhras, also not an easy trip. 

Yet it appears as Gandalf and Aragorn have decided to take this way so far, so tonight we’re going to try passing the Hithaeglir at the Redhorn Gate. Unfortunately, this sounds far easier than it turns out to be. The Hobbits and Gimli almost drown in the snow that is constantly falling down from out the heavy grey clouds hanging above our heads. 

Walking gets more and more difficult even for us others. The snow has already reached my hips, and it is snowing on and on. And if this wasn’t enough, there is a strange noise in the air that sounds like voices. Maybe it’s just the wind, but I can hardly believe this, tonight, tired as I am. The others seem to think similar about this, so we decide to have a short break under this high rock face – we haven’t found any place giving us more shelter on the whole way up here, and according to Gandalf we won’t do so – until the snowfall will have decreased. 

Now this seems to be happening. It was about time, we’re running out of the firewood we took with us on Boromir’s advice. We certainly won’t be making it any longer up here, and not at all if the weather doesn’t change. But as I’ve just said, there is already less snow. Well, at least less snow falling down from the clouds. On the ground there is still lying a good meter unfortunately. Ha-ha, our way back through these snowdrifts will surely become quite funny. 

Aragorn is standing next to me, his thoughts seem to be familiar. But he also must worry about the fact that this probably least dangerous of the three ways turned out to be impassable. He and Boromir decided after a short discussion to pave a way through the snow so that Gimli and the Hobbits get a chance to get away from here at all. I would very much like to help them, but Aragorn tells me that the snow would rather be too deep in some places than I was a great help to them. Well, I’m afraid he is right, so I stay leaning on the rock face waiting for his and Boromir’s return. 

Eventually even Legolas takes his leave, saying “I go to find the sun!” and off he runs, disappearing behind the next corner. An Elf you should be, I am thinking, then we all could simply walk over this terrible snow and wouldn’t have to sink into it up to the abdomen. 

But finally Legolas returns, and shortly after him there are Aragorn and Boromir coming back, too. Apparently they did manage to force a way through the snowdrifts for us. And they also told us that the snow doesn’t reach this far down the slope of the mountain and after some bends isn’t even ankle-high anymore. 

Great. The meaning of this I know straight away. The enemy already knows that we’re on the road, and what is even better, he also can hinder us from getting on. 

But at the moment neither of us really cares about this, we only want to get away from here. All are exhausted and frozen stiff and so happy when we finally stumble down the slopes in the beginning dusk.

 

This night we are attacked by wolves, and they aren’t ordinary wolves, too. If that’s going to go on like this I am not that confident that we will get this far with our mission. Quite funny, suddenly everyone is for taking the way through the mines, if we should live to see the next morning. 

We defend ourselves bravely, but our quick ending seems foreseeable. Luckily only until Gandalf shows some of his spells. It’s not the worst to have a wizard in the company, especially if he’s named Gandalf. 

After he has torched all the trees standing – or better, were standing – around our camp, the wolves finally withdraw. Yes, a quiet, relaxing night… But well, I might probably get to miss this, if Gandalf leads us into the mines of Moria tomorrow… 


	8. The Mines of Moria

The next dusk is setting. And again, I’ve got the bad feeling that it could be the last one I will ever see.

Aragorn and I are sitting not far from our companions, Sam is saying goodbye to his pony Bill and Gandalf is thinking for a password to open the Gates of Moria for a pretty long time already.

I am not quite sure whether I should better hope he will find it, or he won’t. Boromir said, the wolf that one hears is worse than the orc that one fears, but if we will be surrounded by Orcs inside that Mines and can get neither forward nor back, I can’t imagine this to be nice either. Oh well, both ways aren’t that pleasant.

Perhaps I should have simply stayed in the North, in my forest… but there is no going back now. “Speak, friend, and enter…” I hear Aragorn murmuring next to me.

Suddenly we all jump. The wolves can be heard again, and Bill, the pony, apparently gets even more shocked than we do and bolts. Gandalf leaps to his feet and cries out: “I have it! Of course, of course! Absurdly simple, like most riddles when you see the answer.” He then takes his staff and standing right in front of the gate he says with loud voice: “ _Mellon!_ ”

Indeed, the door is opening. I rise from my seat. Through the gateway you can see long, wide stairs leading deep into the mountain. But it vanishes into the darkness after a few meters.

I take a deep breath. Actually, I still don’t even like the thought of going into those mines, but now it seems like I have no other choice. I am standing on the lowest stair when I suddenly hear a cry: Frodo is just fighting with a… what the hell is this actually? It looks like a snake, but it doesn’t have a head.

Well, anyhow, this thing is now dragging him towards this dark and slimy pool right next to the gate. This is not so good, I would guess. But Sam is on his side already, with his sword he is chopping this slimy, a bit fluorescent thing and it lets go of Frodo’s ankle. For that, there are even more of this strange things coming out of the water. Great Valar, these are the tentacles of some giant creature that’s living in this desolate pool!

With a cry I am drawing my sword and am just about jumping down the stairs, when I hear Gandalf shouting: “Into the gateway! Up the stairs! Quick!” This brings us to our senses, somehow, and we run upstairs, into the darkness. Behind us, the disgusting tentacles are writhing over the doorstep already and I’m beginning to fear they could haunt us through whole Moria, when they slam the mighty stone doors shut.

Now it is utterly dark in here, a complete blackness. The air is oppressive, but not stuffy. I don’t hear anything except my companions’ breathing and my own heartbeat. Then we can hear a terrible noise from outside: This whatever-it-is must just be tearing out the wonderful old trees of holly that have been standing right and left of the gate now for a millennium at least.

The door is barricaded now, I fear. Great, now we don’t even have a choice. We must try to reach the other side of those mines somehow.

“What was the thing, or were there many of them?” Frodo asks. Gandalf answers: “I do not know, but the arms were all guided by one purpose. Something has crept, or has been driven out of dark waters under the mountains. There are older and fouler things than Orcs in the deep places of the world.”

Boromir silently murmurs: “In the deep places of the world! And thither we are going against my wish. Who will lead us now in this deadly dark?” The echo although amplifies his voice so that everybody can hear him. “I will,” Gandalf replies. “Follow my staff!”

On top of his staff there now is glowing a dim white light, it lights up the dark stairway, and we go to follow him. Gimli is walking right next to Gandalf, behind them are the Hobbits Frodo and Sam. Legolas is walking between those two and the younger Hobbits Merry and Pippin, after them comes Boromir. In the dark at the rear, Aragorn and I walk in silence.

My hand rests upon the hilt of my sword, but nothing dangerous seems to draw near.

After perhaps two hundred of stairs, the stairway comes to its end and leads into an archway with flat and level floor leading on into darkness. This archway we follow. The passage twists round a few turns, and then begins to descend. On the left and right side there are openings in the wall, leading into other archways. Some lead straight down into the depth, others go on quite level, and then there also are stairs leading upwards again.

I soon give up trying to remember the way, it is hopeless. I simply have to trust to Gandalf and Aragorn, at least they’ve been here before. Gandalfs information, there are “only” about forty miles to the eastern side of the Misty Mountains, what means it will take us about three days to reach it, if all goes well and we aren’t attacked. So let’s better hope all goes well.

Great. Almost ten hours we’ve been walking through this utter darkness till Gandalf doesn’t know how to go on.

In front of us there are three archways, all of them running in about the same direction. But the left one descends, while the right one is leading upwards and the one in the middle stays level.

The way has become more and more uneven during the last few hours. Holes, dark wells and great cracks in the floor are more and more often posing a threat to us.

All of us are tired and can even less than Gandalf imagine how we should go on. He now decides – to my great relief – that we should go and find a partly safe place to rest.

On the left side there is a small chamber, probably it once was to guard the three archways. The door opens without any problems and Merry and Pippin are right running ahead. But Gandalf calls them back immediately: It would be dangerous, for they couldn’t know what was on the other side of the door.

And of course there is a pretty big hole right in the middle of this not that big room. Looks like it once was a well, but the great stone lid which covered it is broken and its pieces are scattered all around the room.

I walk over to the corner which is furthest away from the entrance and lay down close to the wall. Aragorn is coming to me, sitting down on the ground next to me. I sit up. It looks like he wanted to tell me something, but then we suddenly hear a muted splash, like a stone falling into water very far below. Alarmed we turn.

But Gandalf has already sorted Pippin out: “Fool of a Took! This is a serious journey and not a hobbit walking-party. Throw yourself in next time and then you will be no further nuisance. Now be quiet!”

We all stay motionless, hardly daring to draw breath. All stays silent. But after a few minutes we can hear dull beats. After some time they stop, but as soon as their echo has faded away, they are repeated. It sounds like signals, like a message being sent from one place to another. I am sitting as if turned to stone, something down there must have been disturbed.

After a few more minutes the knocking dies away. We all heave an audible sigh of relief.

“That was the sound of a hammer, or I have never heard one,” Gimli mutters. “Yes,” says Gandalf, “And I don’t like it. It may have nothing to do with Peregrin’s foolish stone; but pray, do nothing of that kind again. You, Pippin, can go on the first watch, as a reward,” he growls, before he rolls himself in his blanket.

I turn to Aragorn again, but he apparently has lost interest in talking, because all he says is: “Best if we also go to sleep for some hours.” This he doesn’t have to say twice. As soon as I have closed my eyes I fall asleep. At least it isn't as cold in here as the last nights outside have been.

It is Gandalf who rises us from sleep. It seems like he has finally made up a decision about our way. So we take the right-hand archway because in Gandalf’s opinion it is about time for us to get further up again. So far so good.

We walk this road or whatever it has been before now for some hours, the floor below our feet rising steadily, not steeply, but noticeably. I have lost all feeling for time, and I really miss the sun. Not only to regain my feeling for time, I also miss the light badly. We've spent almost two whole days in utter darkness, and, well, solitude.

I really wish to feel some wind in my hair, some beams of the pale winter sun in my face, a breath of fresh air with the scent of the forests in it. Aragorn, too, looks like lost in his own thoughts, sad thoughts, if I read the expression on his face correctly.

We have already fallen back behind the others some meters, so I speak to him quietly: “I miss the sun, and the wind… How long, do you think, will it take us to reach the other side?” He only sighs, then he murmurs, still half in thoughts: “Perhaps… three days, from one end to the other.”

I’m shaking my head and thrusting my elbow into his ribs: “hey, wake up! This Gandalf has already told us at the west gate when we departed. But now, what do you think, how long are we still going to take?”

He looks at me like someone diving out of a dream. “Oh, almighty Valar, you’re asking questions... perhaps one day, perhaps two... but why are you so eager to know this?"

I’m shaking my head again. “What by all Valar are you thinking about?”  He sighs again. “About my first journey through Moria. You know, at that time…” He suddenly stops.

The walls on both sides have disappeared. We are standing in something like a giant hall. Gandalf lets his light flash for a second, then it’s dark again. Ok, this hall definitely _is_ enormous big. On the opposite side there is another gate, and on the left and the right are similar archways hewn into the stone. The high ceiling is supported by giant pillars.

We decide to sleep in this hall for now. Gandalf tell us that he expects us to be at the eastern side of the mountains already, but unfortunately are some levels above the ground. And that there should be windows carved into the side of the mountains, so it must be night outside.

And this also means that tomorrow I will probably see some light again! I would have been happy so far, if not for Aragorn, who is apparently pretty depressed because of something I don’t know.


	9. Comfort through the Darkness

He got the first watch. I lie motionless and listen to the others’ breath. When I’m finally sure that everyone besides Aragorn and myself has fallen asleep, I get up silently and walk over to him.

I sit down next to him, waiting for some while. But he doesn’t say anything, so eventually I ask him: “What did you want to tell me when we were entering the hall? What has happened on your first journey through Moria?”

He takes a deep breath, then he begins: “I was on my way from Lothlórien to Fornost. It is now over forty years past, but it still touches me.” After a short break he continues:

“This was the main reason, why I didn’t want to go through Moria. The risk is almost the same on both Caradhras and the mines, of being discovered by the enemy as well as the possibility to…. die because of… any other circumstances. I… I…” His voice is hoarse and shakes.

I move a bit closer to him until our shoulders touch each other. “Arwen and I… we got engaged to one another in Lórien.” He sobs, and I carefully put my arm around his shoulders.

Just like I have done in Rivendell three months ago, he crawls into my arms and cries. I understand him. This separation he has already told me so much about, and especially how much it has hurt him, has to feel even more awkwardly here, in a place where everything seems to remind him of the happiness he has felt after his engagement. But I do not only understand this feelings of him. It was also hard for me to tell him about the dead of my family and the loss of my sister.

“Everything will be ok,” I whisper. “You will be able to forget her one day. Or at least it won’t hurt that much anymore.” I hold him tight, and as he has comforted me then, he calms down after a while. The desperate sobs become less and more quietly, then he takes a deep breath and sits up again.

“All right?” I ask him. My hands are still placed on his shoulders, so I can feel him nodding. We remain seated next to each other, staring into the darkness, until Frodo comes to take over the watch.

 

The next morning actually is a real morning. What means the sun is shining and there is real light in here. And we decide that it would be best to leave these terrible mines today already, somehow. None of our company really wants to spend another night in Moria, so we try our best to find the right exit from this hall.

All speaks well for the gate on the opposite side from where we entered the hall, but Gandalf wasn’t Gandalf if he wouldn’t insist on going so far as to be sure this is the right way without any doubts. Well, a quite sensible idea, but honestly, I don’t want to stay inside that mountain one minute longer than I have to. I want air and light, sun and wind, I would also accept rain, everything is better than this darkness and this oppressive air smelling of stone and dust in which you cannot feel a single breath moving.

Gandalf is now explaining what he thinks we should do best: “I do not know yet exactly where we are. Unless I am quite astray, I guess we are above and to the north of the Great Gates; and it may not be easy to find the right road down to them. The eastern arch will probably prove to be the way that we must take; but before we make up our minds we ought to look about us.

"Let us go towards that light in the north door. If we could find a window it would help, but I fear that the light comes only down deep shafts.” Well, I fear that Gandalf unfortunately might be right, but after all it is light.

We follow him and through this north gate we enter a wide corridor. The light here is even brighter, it floats out of a doorway on our right. The door is halfway open, and behind it I can see a large square chamber.

In fact, this light in here must be dim, but after the long darkness this seems dazzlingly bright to my eyes. I am blinking, the lightness hurts my eyes. The light is coming through a shaft high in the eastern wall, and through it I can far above glimpse a small patch of blue sky.

Sky! I feel happier than I have for many days, we have almost managed to get out of those mines. It wouldn’t have needed much to make me cheer about this patch of sky. But then I take a closer look around the chamber, and the cheer becomes stuck in my throat. This looks like a vault. The light from the shaft is falling on something like a great block of stone which is standing in the middle of the room. On its upper side is placed a thick slab of white stone.

I can hear Frodo muttering next to me: “It looks like a tomb.” And he is just saying exactly what we all seem to be thinking. There are runes carved into the slab as I just have noticed. The runes are Cirth, or, what Gandalf is just saying, Daeron’s runes. I can’t read them, this alphabet is pretty unknown to me except a few single letters. I can read and write Tengwar, and after all in the way of Gondor, Beleriand and in the fëanorian way, and usually this is enough for my purposes. But well, dwarves use mainly Cirth. And yes, for the cutting-into-stone they are much more useful I have to admit.

But luckily Gandalf can read them, and so he translates: “Here is written in the tongues of Men and Dwarves: _Balin Son of Fundin, Lord of Moria_.” Frodo sighs: “He is dead then. I feared it was so.” Gimli casts the hood over his face. We remain silent, standing shocked around Balin’s tomb. I didn’t know him, but Gimli and Frodo’s grief is touching.

Finally Aragorn, Gandalf, Boromir and I bring ourselves to look around for things that might give us any hints for the dwarves’ fate. And really, under a lot of rubble and stones, rusted armor, splintered arrows and spears, shattered swords and bones we find a book. It is slashed and stabbed and partly burned, and some leaves break as Gandalf now lifts it up from the dust.

He looks over a few pages. I mention Cirth in different handwritings and types of writing, now and again also some parts written in Tengwar. “This book seems to be a record of the fortunes of Balin’s folk,” he starts reading out some parts to us.

The dwarves must have met a tragic end, trapped in the mines and a superiority of Orcs against them. Shivers as cold as ice run down my spine. This discovery should rather be one more reason to leave this place as soon as possible, is it not?

But Gandalf seems to be fascinated by it. Well, at least when he finally reaches the end of the book he’s got an idea of where we actually are, in the Chamber of Marzabul. And unfortunately, this chamber is set on the sixth level above the exit.

Well, now that this is set, can’t we leave these mines as soon as possible?

No, apparently we cannot. I’m just about to follow Gandalf and Boromir, who are on their way towards the great hall – from what I’ve just learned the twenty-first hall from the northern end – when suddenly we hear drumbeats out of the depth.

The walls and the floor are shaking, it is as if the mines themselves were beaten like a great drum. Then there is the sound of a great horn, other ones are answering from farther away, the noise of many feet can be heard just before the door.

“They are coming!” Legolas cries. “We cannot get out,” says Gimli. “Trapped!” Gandalf sights. “Why did I delay? Here we are, caught, just as they were before. But I was not here then. We will see –“

Still the drumbeat can be heard, the walls are quivering. “Slam the doors and wedge them!” shouts Aragorn. “And keep your packs on as long as you can: we may get a chance to cut our way out yet.” “No!” Gandalf says. “We must not get shut in. Keep the east door ajar! We will go that way, if we get a chance.”

There is another harsh horn-call and shrill cries, steps are approaching outsides on the corridor. We draw swords. Boromir flings himself against the door and finally manages it to close it, after Gandalf had a short look through the narrow opening.

“There are Orcs, very many of them. And some are large black Uruks of Mordor. But there is something else there. A great cave-troll, I think, or more than one. There is no hope of escape that way.” “And no hope at all, if they come at the other door as well,” says Boromir gloomily.

At said door Aragorn is standing and listening into the darkness. “There is no sound outside here yet,” he finally says. “The passage on this side plunges straight down a stair; it plainly does not lead back towards the hall. But it is no good flying blindly this way with the pursuit just behind. We cannot block the door. Its key is gone and the lock is broken, and it opens inwards.

"We must do something to delay the enemy first. We will make them fear the Chamber of Marzabul!” he said grimly, feeling the edge of his sword Andúril.

Well, Boromir has blocked the door from within, but apparently we have a superiority against us. The Orcs manage to open the door narrowly, and through this narrow gap the arm of a thing that looks pretty much like a troll is forcing its way. It is covered with green-gray scales. Underneath a great, flat foot appears, same color but toeless comes through the opening, too. A troll, doubtless.

Boromir hews on the arm, but his sword just slips off: it is notched. Suddenly, Frodo is leaping forward, and crying “The Shire!” he stings his own blue-glowing sword into the troll’s foot. Black blood is dripping from the blade when he pulls it out again.

His sword has to be elvish, otherwise the blade wouldn’t glow. Gandalf’s sword Glamdring is shining blue and deadly through the darkness, too, just like my one. But Andúril is glowing white, not blue, and quite differently, warmer and more merciless at the same time. It looks like it was dancing in Aragorn’s hand while he is attacking the Orcs with Boromir at his side.

The Orcs are pouring out of the doorway, the door itself is lying half-broken and torn out of its hinges on the floor already. I take my sword Anglachel in both of my hands and with a cry I leap next to Boromir.

We slay many Orcs before they finally pull back. All of my companions are unharmed, except Sam who has a little scratch on his fore-head, but he seems to be well nonetheless.

“Now is the time! Let us go, before the troll returns!” cries Gandalf, and we flee through the half-open eastern gate out of the chamber of Marzabul. But before all of us have passed through, I can see a great orc-chieftain running into the chamber and at once attacking us. He waves his spear and cries out. With his shield he pushes Boromir’s sword away, dives away under Aragorn’s blow and aims – on Frodo!

My heart skips a beat when the spear hits the hobbit on his right side. Sam leaps onto the orc with a loud cry, under his strike the spear shatters, but before the orc can get his scimitar from its sheath Andúril comes down on his helmet like a white glowing flame.

With head fissured he sinks down, his followers flee from our rage. “Now!” Gandalf shouts again. “Now is the last chance! Run for it!” Aragorn picks up Frodo, who is lying by the wall, and we run for our very lives, down the steep stairs after Gandalf. Gimli, despite of the danger, can’t tear himself away from Balin’s tomb, Legolas has to pull the dwarf after him.

Boromir slams the door shut behind us. It has great iron rings on both sides, but we have nothing to lock it. But we can’t change our situation now. We are about to go on already when Frodo suddenly says: “I am all right. I can walk. Put me down.” Aragorn nearly drops him in surprise.

“I thought you were dead!” I almost drop my sword. “Not yet,” Gandalf says. “But we have no time to think about this now. Go down the stairs, all of you! Wait a few minutes for me, but if I don’t come back soon, go on! Go fast and take passages leading to the right and down.”

“We can’t let you hold the door on your own!” Aragorn contradicts. Brave, the boy, no doubt, and honor he’s got, too. Unfortunately, he’s tired of living also. I have to bite back a grin. “Do as I say!” Gandalf commands him. “Swords are no more use here. Go!”

We wander down the stairs in darkness. Gandalf remains on the top, and from there a little bit of light seeps down to us, getting weaker slowly but surely.


	10. A Foe from the Fire

The doorway isn’t lit by any shaft and, according to that, pitch-black.

On the foot of the stairs we hold waiting for Gandalf. Far up there is still the weak slightest shimmer of his staff more to guess than to see. Apparently he is still standing up there behind the closed door.

Frodo is breathing heavily and leaning on Sam. I hope he is fine, but at least he is still alive. As soon as we will get out of here I have to take a closer look at him, he seems to be injured.

Suddenly, there is a white lightening, then Gandalf comes flying down the stairway and falls to the ground. “Well, well! That’s over.” He murmurs while struggling to his feet. “I have done all that I could. But I have met my match, and have nearly been destroyed. But don’t stand here! Go on! You will have to do without light for a while, I am rather shaken. Go on! Go on! Where are you, Gimli? Come ahead with me! Keep close behind, all of you!”

We follow him. I would think it quite interesting to know what exactly has happened up there, but there is no time for asking questions now. Still the drums are beating, further away now, but it is to be heard very clearly that they are following us.

My hands are shaking with nervousness. Perhaps we will make it, perhaps we will manage to escape, somehow. We descend ever new stairways, deeper and deeper, ever closer to the gate, but whether we’re walking towards our freedom or into a trap, no one can say.

The stairs are the main danger at the moment: none of us can see in this darkness and so we have to trust Gandalf. He is searching the floor with his staff like a blind person. Well, we all are nine blind persons at the moment, led by another blind person. But I like this rather than breaking my neck on this steep stairs.

 

It takes us an hour, perhaps even longer, and during this time we must have covered a distance of one mile at least when Gandalf finally stops at the foot of the seventh stairway.

“It’s getting hot,” he tells us. “We should be at the gate level by now. Soon we have to look for a gateway turning left and leading eastward. I hope it isn’t much further. I am tired. I have to rest just a moment, even if all the Orcs who were ever spawned in the depths of this earth were after us.”

Gimli helps him to sit down on one of the lower steps. “What happened up there at the door?” the dwarf asks curiously. “Have you met the one with the drum?”

“I’m not sure” Gandalf answers. “But I was challenged by something I haven’t met before. I couldn’t think of anything better than putting a shutting-spell on the door. I know many of them, but it takes time to do this properly; and the door can still be opened by strength.”

The wizard now tells us that the Orcs were talking about _gâsh_ , what is fire in our tongue, and that the whole walls of the Chamber of Marzabul and possibly the ceiling also fell in while he was fighting his opponent. Gandalf has no idea of what it exactly was that he has faced, but apparently it was something very old and very powerful, and it was nearly superior to him.

Thinking about this what-ever-it-was makes me feel pretty uncomfortable, and especially the thought of it not being buried in the debris of the Chamber and so perhaps still following us.

But now Gandalf turns to Frodo: “And what about you? There wasn’t any time till now, but I have never been more relieved than when you suddenly spoke to us. I feared Aragorn was carrying a brave, but dead hobbit.” “That spear would have skewered a wild boar.” Aragorn adds.

Frodo seems to be rather uncomfortable standing in the middle of all our attention. But he looks heavier injured than he wants to admit, even breathing appears to be painful for him. I hope he has no cracked ribs. 

Eventually we go on. After a short time Gimli, who has the best eyes to see anything in this dim twilight, tells us that there was light in front, but no day light. It is red. “Perhaps this is what they meant: That the lower levels are aflame.” Gandalf mutters. “But anyway, we only can go on.”

I think, my worst fear is to be caught between the fire and the destroyed chamber. This would be a miserable death, to die in flames, with my sword in hands, but no enemy to reach. But it is fire, and the air gets ever hotter while approaching the source of the fire.

There isn’t anything clear I can spot yet, only a gateway right in front of me, and the red shimmer is gleaming through it. When we have finally reached this arch Gandalf passes it first and tells us to wait. Carefully he looks into the glowing emptiness spreading behind the gateway.

“There is a new devilry, prepared for our arrival, no doubt. But now I know where we are. We have reached the first bottom, the level right below the gate. This is the Second Hall of Ancient Moria, and the gate is close: at the eastern end of this hall to the left, not further than a quarter of a mile. Over the bridge, up a broad stairway, following another road through the First Hall and out! But come and see!”

Carefully I look past him and Boromir into the giant hall in front of us. It is enormous, much broader and higher and longer than the one we have made our camp in last night. Luckily we are close to the eastern end of the hall, the western one is covered in darkness.

Between two of the high and broad pillars carrying the ceiling I can see a crack. From this crack all the heat and the red shimmer and the fire is coming. “If we had come along the main road from the upper halls we would have been caught in a trap now.” Gandalf says relieved. “Let’s hope that the fire is now standing between us and our hunters. Come on!”

He has hardly finished when the drums start beating again. We can hear cries and horn calls from the western part of the hall, the pillars seem to be shaking and the flames are flickering. “Now!” Gandalf calls out. “If the sun is shining outside we may have a chance to escape!”

With this he starts running, towards the narrow bridge I can see close to my left. I have a short look at Aragorn. He nods, and together we follow Gandalf.

The cries get ever louder, they have spotted our company. Steps follow us, arrows are whirring past our heads. Boromir starts laughing: “I’m sure they didn’t expect this! The fire has cut them off! We are on the wrong side!” “Look ahead!” Gandalf tells him. “The Bridge is near. It is dangerous and narrow.”

I can see an abyss right in front of us, a black gorge with a depth indeterminable. Only this bridge carved out of the solid stone leads over it to the gate on the other side. I can see at once for what purpose it once was built: to defend the realm of Khazad-dûm. Quite clever, the stone arch is so narrow that only one person can cross it at one time.

In front of the bridge Gandalf stops waiting for us. “Lead on, Gimli.” He says. “Straight on, and up the stairs after you passed the door.” There are still arrows being shot at us. One of them just touches on Frodo, but doesn’t hurt him. Another one is stuck in Gandalf’s hat like a feather. The Orcs on the other side of the fire are running around and waving their spears and scimitars; their weapons are shining red like blood in the glowing light. The drum beats are getting ever louder and faster. Legolas now takes an arrow himself, but I don’t think he will hit one single orc over this distance. Well, I do not doubt his precision, only the reach of his bow.

Then suddenly he drops his bow, the arrow falls to the ground. Fear and despair is written in his face; a shocked cry escapes his lips. Two big trolls are approaching; they lay heavy stone slabs across the fiery crack. But not the trolls were the reason for Legolas’ fear: behind the Orcs there is something else drawing near. I don’t know what exactly it is, but I can feel the dark power it is spreading. Even his own allies, the Uruks, are drawing back when it approaches.

When it has reached the edge of the fire all light dims like a great cloud had covered it. Then it leaps across the crack easily. The flames roar up to greet it, black smoke obscures the air. Its mane kindles. In its right hand it is holding a blade that is looking like a flame itself, and in its left hand I can see a whip with several thongs.

What in the name of the almighty Valar is this? Well, of course I have an inkling that it isn’t friendly towards us, but _what_ kind of creature is it and where does it come from and especially: what is it going to do with us now? At least one of my questions is now answered by Legolas, but it doesn’t really help to calm my nerves: “Ai! A Balrog!” he wails. Gimli is just staring at this monster with widened eyes. “Durin’s bane!” he exclaims, and then he drops his axe and covers his face. Is everyone around just losing their minds? Durin’s bane? What by all the Valar is the meaning of this?

I have a quick look at Gandalf, but he isn’t much more encouraging, too. “A Balrog.” He sighs. “Now I understand!” He leans on his staff. “What an evil fortune! And I am already tired!”

 

The pure shock this Balrog spreads makes it nearly impossible to think. Somehow I manage not to drop my sword, but then Gandalf’s commanding voice makes us obey: “Over the bridge! Fly! This foe is beyond any of you. I must hold the narrow passage. Fly!”

Neither Aragorn nor Boromir nor I follow his order. As soon as we have reached the other side of the bridge we stop and hold our ground. As one man we draw our swords. Anglachel gleams in the light of the fires, its edges glow blue.

I can see Gandalf standing in the middle of the bridge, his sword Glamdring in his right hand, its blade glowing cold and white, and facing his enemy. This Balrog seems to be made out of shadow and flame, and it has two wings it is spreading now. They reach from one end of the hall to the other, or it just appears to be so because they also might melt together with the darkness around.

Now the Balrog raises its whip, fire comes from its nostrils. But Gandalf stands there, not moving a single step. “You cannot pass!” he tells the Balrog firmly. “I am a servant of the secret fire, wielder of the Flame of Anor. You cannot pass. The dark fire will not avail you, Flame of Udûn! Go back to the Shadow! You shall not pass!”

The Balrog doesn’t answer, but its fire seems to lower its heat and intensity. Then it pulls up to its full seize, and despite this Gandalf is still standing as he was hewn out of stone.

I take a deep breath and hold my sword hilt tighter and with both hands. I have the strong need to run away as far as I can get and to run over to Gandalf to stand to his side at the same time. Yes, I wouldn’t be able to help him that much, but everything is better than standing here, doing nothing and waiting for the almost certain death.

While I am still thinking what best to do the Balrog has drawn its sword. The red blade comes out of the shadows and strikes on Gandalf, but he takes up Glamdring. A white flame leaps up, the sound of clashing metal is heard. The Balrog falls back, its sword is broken and the molten fragments are falling onto the bridge.

Still Gandalf is standing there. Calmly he takes a step back, then he waits for his opponent. How, in the name of the Valar, can he be so calm? “You cannot pass!” he repeats again. Now the Balrog jumps onto the bridge. The whip whirls through the air and flames are flickering along the thongs.

“He cannot stand alone!” Aragorn suddenly cries out. He runs back onto the bridge. “Elendil! I am with you, Gandalf!” Boromir now follows him, too. “Gondor!” I hear him cry out as he leaps onto the small passage. Now I am the only one left on this end of the bridge, hesitating and feeling like a horrible coward. My sword is shaking in my hands. I close my eyes in desperation. I don’t want to remain here, unable to move with fear heavy upon my mind, because I’m not even afraid of this Balrog. It is more like a spell it has cast upon me. I have to take three deep breathes, then I somehow manage to step onto the arch with one foot.

And as soon as my sole has touched the stone all the fear suddenly is gone. I run over to Boromir and Aragorn, but right in this Moment Gandalf lifts his staff and smites the bridge in front of him. Lightning flashes. The staff breaks into pieces, and unfortunately so the bridge does, too. With a terrible cry, the Balrog falls down into the bottomless depths of Moria.

The half of the Bridge we four are standing on is shaking, but luckily it holds. But while falling the Balrog whirls its whip and the thongs tangle around Gandalf’s knees. The wizard is pulled over the edge before he can take a hold. “Fly, you fools!” is the last thing we can hear before he disappears into the pitch black depth.

 

With the Balrog the fire has disappeared, too. Darkness again is descending into the Halls of Moria. This time I am the first one to get back to their senses again. With a cry I make my way back to the safe ground on the other side of the bridge we are still standing on.

As soon as the two Men have also reached it the arch cracks and the rest of it finally falls down into the abyss. I feel as if in a daze. Gandalf has given his life to save us, that we may have a chance of escaping. I didn’t really know him, but nonetheless I am touched by this selfless action. I can’t do anything besides staring at this chasm gaping behind us.

Then Aragorn seizes me by the shoulder and pulls me after him. “Come on! I will lead you now!” he tells the others. “We have to obey to his last order. Follow me!” With these words he’s running through the door and up the stairs. I am next to him at the top of the line, Boromir is the last one. After the stairs we follow a wide hallway.

There are still drums to be heard behind us. I keep running. After this hallway we entre another hall. It takes me a moment to realize that the thing dazzling me is the light of day. Should we really manage to escape those terrible mines? Then Gandalf at least wouldn’t have died in vain. This thought encourages me, I can already see the great but broken gates of Moria in front of me, an arch filled with pure and bright light.

A company of Orcs is watching the gates; their leader makes the mistake to step in our way. A single precise strike of Andúril cleaves his head. This is enough to make the other Orcs flee. Aragorn has to look terrible in their eyes, the expression in his face would even scare me if I didn’t know him better.

Then we reach the gates and pass it, running down the old trodden stairs of Moria half blinded by the bright sunlight. The mines lay behind us. I can feel wind in my face, and then I suddenly realize that I’m weeping. As soon as we are out of reach for their bows, we let us sink down on the ground.

We have escaped, but we have paid heavily for it.


	11. The Road Goes On

Only some minutes have passed when Aragorn makes us go on.

“I fear that we can’t stay here.” He turns to the mountain and raises his sword: “Farewell, Gandalf! Have I not told you: ‘ _If you pass the doors of Moria, beware’_? Alas that I have spoken true! What hope remains without you?” Then he turns back to us: “We have to go on without hope. At least we might get a chance for revenge. Come on! There is a long road ahead.”

With those words he sheathes Andúril and holds his hand out to me. I look up at him, through the curtain of my hair and the veil of my tears, then I take it and get up.

Aragorn is right, we have to try and get away from those mines as far as possible before nightfall. With some luck we even might reach Lórien, depending on how well the Hobbits can keep up. But we have to hurry. If am not mistaken it is the 15th January today, but still the night is coming early. It takes another fifteen minutes, but eventually all of us are ready to go on and we follow Aragorn the way down the mountains.

I have a close look at the landscape. In the north behind us I spot the mountains of Moria: Celebdil, the Silvertine, Fanuidhol, Cloudyhead, and Caradhras, Redhorn. Gimli has also mentioned the names of the mountains in the dwarven language before, but of course I can’t remember them now. In front of us and some way below the Dimrill Dale extends. I can see a great lake pointing into the mountains like a spearhead. “There lies Mirrormere, deep Kheled-zâram!” Gimli exclaims behind me. Mirrormere it is, then. I have the strong feeling that I’ve heard this name before. Its water is deep blue, it is long and nearly oval. Only the southern end is sunlit, the rest of it is shaded by the mountains around.

We pass this lake following the ancient road that leads from Lothlórien to the dwarven realm of old. Gimli is now walking beside Aragorn, he is fascinated by the carved stones we pass now and again. Then we come to a huge pillar, and Gimli calls out: “This is Durin’s stone! I can’t walk past it without having a look at the wonders of the dale!” “Make haste,” Aragorn tells him, but the dwarf has already run off to the pillar and is now standing at the shore of the lake. Frodo and Sam follow him curiously.

“What about you? Don’t you want to go?” Aragorn asks me. Well, I would be quite interested in the exact meaning of this place. So I follow the two Hobbits. The still blue water attracts me somehow. Gimli is standing next to the stone and looking at it. Now I can see that there are runes carved into the stone, but they are weathered so much that they’re hardly legible anymore. The peak also looks like it has broken off sometime in the past. I’d like to know for how long it has been standing here.

“This marks the place where Durin first looked into Mirrormere.” Gimli explains. “Let us have a look ourselves.” I stoop over the dark water just like the others. First I can’t see anything, but then the mirror images of the mountains can be seen. Everything looks like dipped into a deep blue except the white peaks of the mountains: they glow like white flames. The sky in between is also dark and in the depth I can see stars glistening, despite the sun shining. The only things I cannot see are, to my very surprise, our own shapes. “Oh Kheled-zâram fair and wonderful!” Gimli sighs. “Here lies the Crown of Durin till he wakes. Farewell!” He bows to the lake and to the pillar, then he walks back to the road. Frodo, Sam and I do the same. The lake has comforted me somehow. Gandalf’s dead still is a heavy loss, but now I am almost confident that it had to be like this. And he wouldn’t have us despair now. After all we have just taken the first big step, we have crossed the Misty Mountains. We will manage this, somehow. Even without Gandalf.

 

It is almost noon when Legolas points out to Aragorn that Frodo and Sam can’t go much further. Right, they were wounded in the Chamber of Marzabul. All of us have totally forgotten it about the thing with Gandalf and the Balrog. And they have kept up with us quite well until now. But Aragorn apologizes many times for this and decides that he and Boromir will carry them till we have found a place where we can rest for a while. And to my great relief this isn’t far.

Noon has already passed and there are only some few miles between us and the Gates of Moria yet. But if Frodo and Sam are not heavily injured we certainly will be able to cover some more distance after this short break before night will have fallen. And I haven’t yet given up the hope of reaching Lórien today.

Gimli is already lightening a fire and getting some water. I walk over to Aragorn who is just having a look at Sam’s wound. It is a cut on his forehead and the ranger fears that it might be poisoned, but soon he finds out that it isn’t. Frodo is acting a bit more complicated, he doesn’t want to undress. I have already offered to go and help the others when Aragorn simply strips off his jacket and shirt, saying that we would have to look what has become of him between hammer and anvil and that he already wonders how Frodo still can be alive. But then he suddenly laughs.

I have turned away because of policy, but Aragorn tells me to have a look at this, so I turn back to them. Now that I see Frodo standing in front of me I am surprised, too: He’s wearing a Mithril coat worthy of an elvish price! This now is the quite simple explanation for his wondrous survival and also for his disapproval to be undressed. Because now Aragorn also takes his mail coat, but this doesn’t seem to bother him. Together we examine his injuries. He has a pretty bad bruise on his right side where the spear has hit him, but at least his ribs aren’t broken. His left side is hit, too, but not as heavily. Aragorn comforts him with Athelas and tells him to always wear his Mithril coat if this doesn’t discomfort him.

 

After the break we get on very well, and when the dusk falls over Middle-earth we continue our way to the South and East. We still have to walk for some miles if we want to reach Lórien. A cold wind is blowing up from the plain of Anduin in front of us.

Aragorn is walking beside me a little ahead of the others. “I think we will reach Lórien tonight.” He tells me. “It’s just about five miles yet. We have already covered most of the distance.” I nod only. I have never been to Lórien. To be exact, I have never crossed the Misty Mountains so far to the South, and all the lands east of the Great River and south of the Gwathló are almost unknown to me.  Even Gondor I know only from hearsay.

“But, why do you even want to enter Lothlórien?” I ask Aragorn. “Won’t you be thinking of Arwen all the time?” In the soft light of the last sunrays his face looks grim, even stubborn, as he says resolutely: “You were right. I have to live with this. And it won’t do me any good just to try and run away from this hurt.”

Again I only nod, but he continues: “Lúthien Nienor, I have to thank you. I thank you most warmly, because you helped me to see the light again. I will never forget this.”


	12. The Golden Wood

Indeed we managed to reach the Golden Wood last night. There we were picked up by three elvish watchmen who helped us to escape the hunting orcs by spending the night sleeping up in the trees. 

The next morning we’re woken up early by Haldir. He tells us that we have to go south to reach Caras Galadhon, the city of the Galadhrim in the middle of the Golden Wood.

He and his brother Rúmil lead us there. At first we follow the path that led us into the forest last night, but soon Haldir turns aside and we walk right through the forest till we reach the Celebrant. The river is deep here and runs fast already, but I can’t see any bridge we could use to cross it. But before anyone could possibly raise a query the Elves clarify it: we will cross the river with ropes. Now another Elf turns up, and in his hands I can see a rope. One end he throws to Rúmil and our guard ties it to a tree. Well, Haldir and Rúmil and even Legolas might cross the river that way, but I think that we others might get some problems with it. Legolas mentions this, too, but Rúmil reassures us: Haldir is just fastening two other ropes to the tree, one reaches up to my shoulders, and the other one to my hips. So all of us cross Celebrant safely.

As soon as we have reached the other side the Elves loosen the ropes. Rúmil, who stayed on the other shore, is now disappearing into the forest while Haldir is leading us in the opposite direction. But we have just gone some more meters when he stops again.

“As was agreed, I shall here blindfold the eyes of Gimli the Dwarf.” Sorry, but did I miss anything? What was agreed? And when? I am taken by surprise, and so apparently is Gimli. “The agreement was made without my consent!” he grumbles. “I will not walk blindfold like a beggar or prisoner!” After a short discussion Aragorn makes the suggestion that we all should go blindfold.

Everyone agrees, except Legolas: “I am an Elf and a kinsman here!” he complains. Aragorn and Legolas have a short, but quite fierce argument in Sindarin. I’m listening with only half an ear, but it is about Legolas being stubborn and Aragorn having no idea of elvish sense of honor. But soon they agree that all this is because of Sauron’s growing influence so that even allies do mistrust each other. And so Legolas finally allows Haldir to bind a cloth about his eyes. I take a deep breath. At least we can go on now.

 

The next noon a host of woodland Elves passes our way. They have been called to the northern borders against the attacks from Moria. It looks like we have disturbed some more orcs down there. Haldir gets some information from them. The Lady of the Golden Wood apparently knows about our journey and our arrival here in Lórien; she gives Haldir the permission to unwrap our eyes.

At first I’m blinking blinded into the light of the early afternoon. But as soon my eyes got used to it and I can have a look around, I am fascinated. I haven’t seen a forest as beautiful before. Well, my forests up to the North in Rhudaur are beautiful, too, but their beauty lies in the wilderness, they are overgrown and untamed. This forest is light and open, the trees look like they were planted right in their spaces. Well, it is very likely that they _were_ planted like this.

The trees are Mellyrn, common in Lórien, and also other trees with a white bark. Those white trees have lost their leaves due to the winter and look miserable. And the hill behind the trees is called _Cerin Amroth_ , according to Haldir, and is the heart of the ancient kingdom. Here we will have a brief rest.

Our expected arrival in the city of the Galadhrim will be in the evening. Yet the whole country seems to be timeless, just like it has come up out of the depths of a song from the Elder Days. Although it doesn’t look old, more like the time in the world outside the forest has passed too fast.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” I hear Aragorn behind my back. I only nod. This almost mystical atmosphere lying on this wood leaves me breath- and speechless. Little golden flowers, _Elanor_ , and bright white ones, called _Niphredil_ , are blooming in the richly green grass. Aragorn is standing silently next to me and his gaze wanders over the landscape.

Frodo and Sam went up that hill together with Haldir, everyone else is waiting down here for their return. We’re talking quietly. It looks like Gimli isn’t that angry with the Elves anymore because they blindfolded him. After all, he’s talking to Legolas.

Aragorn lets out a deep sigh and I hear his whisper: “ _Arwen vanimelda, namárië_!” There are tears glistening in his eyes again, but he looks like he’s finally left his grief behind. Well, she’s sailing west and leaving him here alone. I can feel tears burning in my eyes now, too. Why can I not forget this image, the burned cottages, the ashes drenched in blood, after twelve years!? Why can’t I just overcome this?

 

Haldir and the two Hobbits come down the hill; we set off. But my thoughts are caught in the past. While trudging along behind the others I can’t think of anything else than my family, and especially Míriel.

It’s been twelve years now since she’s disappeared. It was a late winter day, spring had come unexpectedly and early. She had left Rivendell to pick some herbs in the hill moors. When she still hadn’t returned after three days the Elves began to worry (I had been worried for her all the time, but it was then when I began to be a nervous wreck). Lord Elrond sent out searchers, but nothing could be found, not a single hint. They came to the conclusion that she must have been sunken in the swamps or attacked by Orcs.

This was no comfort for me, but the worst thing was the hope I still had, that she might return one day. But this hope grew bitterly disillusioned. I have tried to accept the thought that she’s probably long dead. But still I would very much like to know what has happened to here. Whether she had to suffer. My hand has lied itself onto the hilt of my sword unconsciously and is now clinging on to it. If, at least, I would know where she has died!

I am angry with my fate, and with myself: I’m her older sister! I should have taken care of her! If I had accompanied her, perhaps she would still be living. We would have built up a life together. I would have never become a Ranger. And most likely I will never be able to stop accusing me for this.

I’m wiping the tears from my eyes angrily and look up. Only now I notice that Aragorn and Legolas have taken me in between of them. I’m a bit confused. “What’s up?” I manage to ask with as much self-control as possible. “Caras Galadhon is right in front of us,” Legolas answers. Indeed the sun has almost sunk and there is a huge green wall in front of us that includes a hill overgrown with mallorn trees.

“So we’ve finally arrived?” “No,” Aragorn replies. “But – this is Caras Galadhon, isn’t it? Where are we going?” Now I’m looking even more confused. “Well, we want to reach Caras Galadhon. But I would guess that you’d prefer to enter the city through the gate as every ordinary one does. Unfortunately, this gate is south of the city, while we’re coming from the north,” Legolas is grinning at me.

How cute, they want to cheer me up. But I’m in no mood to laugh at his little joke, so I’m just nodding. “What’s up, Lúthien?” Aragorn asks me, voice filled with concern. “You’ve been depressed for the whole day.” I try to smile at him, but with tears in my eyes this must look even worse. Then I try to explain: “Míriel… I cannot stop blaming me for her death. And I wonder whether I could perhaps have prevented it.”

“You are not to blame for this, Lúthien. Her death was not of your making. It has happened long years ago,” Aragorn tells me, and Legolas adds: “The Valar haven’t laid this fate upon you for no reason.”

They both put their arms round my shoulders. Still there are tears in my eyes, but somehow I manage to blink them away. Deep inside my mind I know of course that it wasn’t my fault, but who knows, perhaps I would have been able to save her?

Aragorn continues: “Everyone has their time. It might be your fate to walk your path alone. It would not have been possible for you to change her fate if you had been with her.” Slowly I nod. He is right. If a whole host of Orcs had attacked her I wouldn’t have been able to help her.

With a deep sigh I answer: “I should take a leaf out of your book. But perhaps one day I, too, will be able to accept this loss.” We are silent for the rest of our way to Caras Galadhon, but for the first time I’ve got the feeling that maybe, one day in the future, I might be able to leave behind the reproaches of my sister’s death.

 

It’s night already when we finally reach the city gate. The City of Trees that is lying behind this gate is lit by many lanterns. It looks beautiful, like thousands of little stars were floating beneath the branches spreading their gold glimmering light.

By Haldir we are led through the twisted city built on several levels. Finally we reach a free space overgrown with grass. In its middle is standing a huge fountain. It is glowing in a silver light. On the other end I spot a huge tree, its light bark is shining through the darkness like glowing silver. Beyond the tree three elvish watchmen are sitting. They wear silver armor white cloaks and jump to their feet as we come closer.

“Lord Celeborn and Lady Galadriel live here,” Haldir explains to us. “They wish that you should climb up and speak to them.” Now one of the soldiers takes out a small horn and blows a clear ringing note. It is answered three times from above. So we climb up the ladder, Haldir first, Frodo and Legolas right behind him. After them are the other Hobbits, Gimli and Boromir and Aragorn and I are the last ones.

At the top is set an oval chamber filled with green, silver and golden light. Now here live the Lord and the Lady of the Galadhrim. I bow deep to them. There is a special atmosphere around those two High Elves, an atmosphere of pure power and grandeur. Wow, against this Rivendell almost felt like home.

“Greetings, Nienor, daughter of Idril. Your way lies dark behind you, but it is not sure yet whether your future will be any brighter.” With those encouraging words Celeborn welcomes me. I sit down on the floor next to the others. At first the Lord wonders why we are only nine because ten people were to set out from Rivendell. Galadriel, too, explains her need to speak to Gandalf. Now Aragorn tells them about our great loss. There is an awkward silence until Celeborn speaks again: “These are bad news. In fact these are the worst news heard in this city for long years.

"Why we were not informed earlier?” he now asks Haldir in Sindarin. Legolas intervenes: “We haven’t spoken to Haldir about this yet. At first we were too tired and danger was close behind us, and afterwards we almost forgot our grief for a while as we walked through the fair land of Lórien.” “But nonetheless our sorrow is great and our loss cannot be mended,” Frodo adds.

“Tell us the whole story of this!” Celeborn commands, and so Aragorn talks about the Pass of Caradhras and the fight against the Wargs to them. Eventually he mentions the Chamber of Marzabul, our flight and Gandalf’s last fight against the Balrog. “It must have been a demon of the Ancient World as I have never seen one before,” he describes it. “It was both shadow and flame, strong and dreadful.” “It was a Balrog of Morgoth, the most deadly of all elf-banes save the One who sits in the Dark Tower,” Legolas adds. “Indeed I saw on the bridge what hunts us in our darkest dreams, I saw Durin’s bane,” Gimli says, and fear is in his eyes.

Now Celeborn even gets angry at him, if I get this right. He’s just saying that he would never have allowed Gimli to enter Lothlórien had he known what exactly the dwarves have woken under this mountain an age ago. Also he has the opinion Gandalf might finally have gone mad in the end. After all he went into Moria voluntarily.

I’m already taking a deep breath to give him a tongue lashing, but Galadriel is first. She says thoughtfully: “None of Gandalf’s deeds were in vain. Those who followed him do not know his intents. But whatever you can say about the leader, the followers are blameless.” She adds that Gimli wouldn’t deserve those harsh words, even Celeborn would have wished to visit Lórien if he had been living in exile for many a year.

Then she addresses her words directly to Gimli: “Dark is the water of Kheled-zâram, and cold are the springs of Kibil-nâla, and fair were the many-pillared halls of Khazad-dûm in Elder Days before the fall of mighty kings beneath the stones.” She smiles at Gimli, and the dwarf who has looked quite depressed only a minute ago is now smiling, too. He rises and bows before he says: “Yet more fair is the living land Lórien, and the Lady Galadriel is above all jewels that lie beneath the earth!”

The conversation goes on like this for quite a time - too many polite but meaningless phrases for my taste. Celeborn apologizes to Gimli for his rash words, Galadriel promises Frodo as much help as Lórien can give him on his mission. She also warns us about our quest standing upon the edge of a knife. Then she looks deeply into my eyes and I can hear her voice in my head:

“Lúthien Nienor, last of the Atharim! The way of sorrow has been yours for a long time, but the day shall come when the dead will be revenged! But are you also willing to take this way?” I lower my gaze. Of course I want revenge! But what does she mean, will I be willing to take this way? I can’t possibly think of anything that would stop or hinder me on this way, I don’t fear death. But she surely knows what she’s saying.


	13. Of Stories Long Forgotten

For four whole weeks we stay in Lórien. And for four whole weeks I stay with Aragorn and, sometimes, with Legolas. For days we’re just sitting on the shore of the river Celebrant and don’t talk much. Yet I have seldom felt so well in my entire life.

But we’re not the only ones who enjoy ourselves. Boromir apparently has met one nice elvish girl or what he tells us and is quite in love with her.

The days here are wonderful. So I’m almost sad when one evening Celeborn tells us to summon up in the oval chamber up in the high tree and then tells us that the time of parting has finally come. Of course he does ask whether one of us would rather prefer to stay in Lórien than to go on, but all of us apparently have decided to follow Frodo. The Lord of the Galadhrim also gives us boats to cross the Anduin on the one hand, but also to save some time while travelling southwards. We are leaving tomorrow and he tells us not to discuss too much about our road.

The night we all stay together in a tent, and of course we do discuss about our road for quite a time. Boromir still wants to go to Minas Tirith. Frodo doesn’t say anything, but it’s obvious that he does _not_ want to go to Minas Tirith, and Aragorn doesn’t really know what he should do. He told me that he had planned to stay with Boromir and make for Minas Tirith while Gandalf was still alive. But now Gandalf is dead and so Aragorn also has to look after Frodo and the whole Ring business. So the Ranger has no idea whether to stay with Frodo or set out for Gondor.

Just one thing is clear to him: The Ringbearer must never go to Minas Tirith, because that is, according to his ideas, exactly what Sauron would expect us to do. An attempt of the gondorian people to cast him down. I refrain from this debate; I will stay with Aragorn no matter where he will go. So I try to find some sleep. The next morning will certainly make things more clearly than this long-drawn-out debate that is bringing up to no goal.

 

On the next day we set out early and with Haldir as our leader we walk south to the mouth of Celebrant. There the Elves have prepared four boats for us: Aragorn will take one with Frodo and Sam, Boromir with Merry and Pippin, Legolas together with Gimli and I will have one to share it with some luggage and other things. I am really surprised that Legolas and Gimli agreed to share a boat together, but they have become close friends, just like Aragorn and I.

There are some Elves standing at the landing stages who help us to pack our bags in the boats. I am keeping a little bit away from the group watching the Anduin as the water floats past slowly. I will miss the days we spent here.

But when I turn back to my friends, I suddenly realize something that confuses me at first – and then makes my blood freeze. One of the Elves helping with the boats has flaming red curly hair, not the straight silvery or black hair as all the others. And in whole Middle-earth I have only ever known two people with flaming red curly hair. One is my mother, and the other one – it cannot be, such coincidence simply is not possible.

Slowly I walk over to the boats trying to look as indifferent as possible. I really have to stop seeing my sister in every red-haired girl that crosses my path. I could kick myself for my crazy thoughts. Yet this spark of hope was lightened.

And it is likely just to be dashed once again, I think bitterly.

Then the girl with the curls looks up and notices me. And as she does so, she also freezes for a moment. And then she walks right towards me. It cannot be! But it is:

“Lúthien? Is it you? Is it you indeed?” I hear her calling. That’s the moment when I forget everything else around. “Míriel!” I yell out and run towards her. Then we’re lying in each other’s arms crying.

“Lúthien! I am so sorry!” she whispers. I take a closer look at her. She has become a beautiful young woman, and if not for her hair she looks quite similar to our father, especially her face. And she is still wearing the amulet that once belonged to my mother. She gave it to my sister just a few days before we were attacked… But I don’t want to remember this right now, this moment is far too wonderful.

For years I wasn’t able to believe that Míriel’s dead, and right now, when I was just about to get over it she’s suddenly standing right in front of me. “Twelve years!” I whisper. “Twelve years and no one knew where you were! Míriel, what has happened?” She’s looking at me, her lips are trembling. “The Orcs came when I had almost reached the moor. They took me captive and brought me down into their caverns deep beyond the Misty Mountains.” For a moment she closes her eyes as to push the terrible thoughts of it to the back of her mind. Then she goes on:

“Just a few months ago they wanted to take me from their fortress in the mountains far up in the North to Dol Guldur. I don’t know why. When we were on our way they were attacked by Elves and all were slain. The Elves finally brought me to Lothlórien. I wanted to return to Rivendell as soon as the snow had melted and the mountains were passable. But then I heard about the troubles in the mountains...” She stops. I’m shaking my head, still I cannot believe that simple coincidence has brought us together again.

“And what about you, Lúthien? What has happened to you?” she’s now asking me. In brief I now tell her that I have left Rivendell about half a year after she had disappeared because I had thought it useless to wait for her any longer. For two years I had wandered around Eriador, then I eventually joined the Rangers. They had accepted me despite being no Númenórean when they had heard of my fate and my desire for revenge. After eight more years I left them and startet wandering round Eriador on my own again. And then I received Elrond’s invitation for this council, went back to Rivendell and became a member of the Fellowship of the Ring, “and that’s how I ended up here,” I finish my story.

“And what are you going to do now?” she asks me. I’m hesitating for a moment. I want to stay with Aragorn, he’s my best friend and if he indeed should become the King of Gondor in the end it would be disgraceful for me not to be there. And I have sworn to take revenge, and this I will manage the best in helping the others to defeat Sauron.

But on the other hand I have just found my sister again and I don’t want to leave her yet. I feel right torn in two. “I don’t know,” I tell her honestly. “I don’t want to lose you a second time. But I cannot forsake Aragorn, too.”

She’s just about to reply when someone behind me clears their throat. “I really don’t want to disturb you, but we finally have to leave. Lady Galadriel invited to have lunch with her,” I hear Aragorn’s voice. I get up and Míriel is standing at my side when I tell him: “Aragorn, may I introduce my sister Míriel to you?”

He is flabbergasted when I tell him how on earth we found each other again right here, and he’s pretty happy for us. I insist on taking her with me to lunch where Galadriel and Celeborn are quite surprised at first when they figure out that we’re relatives. Well, we don’t have that much in common despite our bright green eyes and the many freckles we’ve both got on our noses. But what really takes _me_ by surprise is Míriel herself.

After we have eaten we finally take our leave and I finally decide that I will still remain with the Fellowship. Míriel can stay here in Lórien and after the war I will return to Lothlórien. Then we will have a whole lifetime to tell each other about the happenings while the long time we had been parted. But Míriel has a rather different attitude on this: “Lúthien, may I come with you?”

I gasp in surprise: “What!? You want to… come with us? But… you know what our task is, don’t you?” I look upon her with dismay, but she simply nods: “You have to take the One, what is the power of the Dark Lord, to the Land of Shadow and there throw it into the _Sammath Naur_ to destroy it.” I am stunned. Tears come to my eyes. My sister has ever had a talent for the right choice of words, so all of this reminds me kind of the days before… all this happened. But nonetheless I fear for her.

“Why do you want to come with us as we’re going to our almost certain death?” “You’re coming too, are you not? So why should I be afraid?” Her eyes are flashing with stubbornness, but with fear also. She’s looking like she doesn’t know whether to hope for me to say yes or no. “I don’t want to be parted from you again in the turmoil of this gathering war, Lúthien.” “Neither do I,” I reply quietly, but still do not have a good feeling about all this.

“All right then, go and ask Aragorn. He’s the one around I would claim to be responsible,” I eventually tell her with a sigh. And of course Aragorn doesn’t say no to her request to accompany the Fellowship for my sake. There would be enough space left in my boat and it would never be bad to have one more warrior with us.

Of course I am happy that Míriel joins us, but at the same time I am horribly worried about her. Yet my fate seems like it would finally like to show me something other than hurt, sorrow and despair.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't know if you expected this or not, and I know it is very, very kitschy but I wanted them to meet again, somehow ;)  
> pls tell me if you liked it or not :)


	14. Some Private Talk

The days we spent in the boats floating down the Anduin is for me even more comfortable than for my companions. Míriel and I have a lot to talk about. And it’s great to finally be reunited with her.

Because we’re sitting in four different boats we just get to know some of the gossip while our short rests for the nights. For example Legolas tells me about Gimli having his eyes on Galadriel and Frodo about Sam’s distrust of boats. Míriel very much enjoys the company of Merry and Pippin and, especially, Boromir. Those two are getting on with each other like an old married couple, teasing but also laughing at each other full of joy. “It looks like just the right chaotic persons have found together,” Aragorn says with a grin to Legolas, Gimli and me on the first evening. We’re just watching their struggle to get the other one drowned in the Anduin. I grin back at him: “Yeah, now you know why I didn’t want her to come with us.”

He has a quick side glance at me. “Lúthien.” Still it feels somewhat strange to hear my real name, but after we have spent this much time together I finally allowed all of my companions to call me this. I look into his eyes grey and stormy. “Lúthien, for the first time since I’ve met you you’re really happy.” I laugh at his words. “Yes, that’s right. I am really happy for the first time for the last twelve years.” “If this is so, then I cannot call you Nienor anymore, forever. You have cast off the grief, as it seems.” He’s laughing now, too.

Perhaps my fate is not all that bad. At least not as bad as I had thought it to be for the last _yén_. But soon I am serious again. “It is Míriel, and it is not her. The last time I saw her she has not been eleven years old yet, and now she’s almost twenty-three. She’s an adult woman, but in my memories she’s still the child she has once been. And somehow I’ve got this strange feeling that a part of her is missing in my eyes.” Carefully he puts one arm around my shoulders. “I’m sure she’s thinking about you the same way. She wouldn’t have imagined you as the woman you are now. But she will always remain your little sister, no matter how far you are apart.”

I lean into him. “I know. And this is why I worry so much about her. We have just found each other again, and we’re going to war. What if one of us should not return?” I sigh heavily. “Lúthien.” His voice is gentle and soothing. “You cannot influence your fate, nor hers. Everything will happen in the way it has to. And I am almost certain that in the end you are meant to be happy.” I smile at him: “Well, then this would be a good start.”

 

The next morning we go on before dawn. Aragorn has the bad feeling that the Dark Lord was not idly while we spent our time in Lórien. Well, he surely is right but the whole day we see not a blind of the enemy, not even scouts.

The land is even on both sides, the trees on the western shore are getting more sparsely and in the end there are no trees at all. To our left we now can see the Brown Lands and huge reeds are standing on both shores shielding us from unfriendly eyes. The whole day we’re paddling till the late evening, and the next two days end up to be exactly the same.

The landscape is monotonous and always the same, the wind is cool and we’re growing restless. After all, the river we’re just floating on so pleasantly and undisturbedly is a battle line. And we, too, have _the one_ weapon to change fortunes in this war and try to keep secrecy. Even Boromir, Míriel and the Hobbits have become quietly, there is few talk and even less laughter.

 

Five days after we have left Lothlórien and after we’ve spent the night on a small island Aragorn informs us about Gollum who has turned up during the night. Great, the hunt is up.

From this day on we are even more watchful and Aragorn decides to go on only at night, dawn and dusk and to make haste. Yet everything remains silent, only the weather gets ever worse. The wind is blowing chilly now from the eastern lands and the sky is hung with lead-grey clouds. Through some few spaces I sometimes catch a glimpse of the thin crescent moon.

 

Seven days after our departure from Lórien the countryside slowly begins to change. It becomes rockier and ascends a bit. We’re drawing closer to Emyn Muil. But still Aragorn risks another night of travelling, in his opinion the rapids of Sarn Gebir are still quite far away. I am not so sure about this, but he is far more experienced in the geography of Middle-earth than I am, so I trust this to him. 

We eventually set off when it is completely dark to make sure that no scouts are watching us. Sam who is lying in the first boat has to take up the watch and report as soon as he spots the rapids or the shallow ahead. This night the sky is even clear. The moon has not yet risen, but the stars are shining brightly and their light makes the Anduin glister like a pale silver road.

Short before midnight Sam raises the alarm: he has noticed dark shapes peering out from the water in front of us, and we all can hear the gurgling noise of fast running water. The boats are drifting aside into a bay washed deep into the rocky shore, swirling around and bumping into each other. Boromir at once complains about Aragorn and that it would be madness trying to pass the Sarn Gebir alive even at light.

We get the order to turn the boats and paddle back if possible. Míriel and I try our very best, we’re fighting against the current, but our progress is barely noticeable. In the darkness it is hard to say whether we’re even moving at all, but after a while the strong suction decreases. We just want to release a breath of relieve when the boat harshly bumps against a sandbank. The shallow! I can hear Boromir screaming out loud, but can’t understand what he’s saying.

On top of that I notice rough voices yelling on the eastern shore, and then the whistling of many bowstrings. The first arrows already hit the boats. “ _Yrch!_ ” Legolas cries out. Orcs! Now everything’s perfect: we’re exposed to all and sundry trying to fight against the current and those creatures have no better idea than shooting at us. Míriel and I duck deep behind the wall of our boat to find at least some shelter there.

After some time we really manage to reach the middle of the river, the current is not pulling that strong anymore. Aragorn now turns his boat to the western shore and we follow him. As soon as we have found some shelter under the overhanging bushes, Legolas is already climbing up the bank and putting an arrow to his bow string. Looks like he wants to give the Orcs a warning they won’t forget in a hurry.

But while he’s still standing there searching for a clear target I feel something coming over us spreading chill and pure dread. Fear takes me, I try to hide inside the small boat as good as possible like everyone else. Legolas only is still standing upright, his head dark against the sky and crowned with stars. “ _Elbereth Gilthoniel!_ ” he sighs with an upward view. Whatever he has spotted up there in the sky it apparently encourages our enemies. There are excited voices to hear from the other shore, but unfortunately no frightened voices. Whatever this is, it must be a servant of the Dark Lord. I duck behind the wall again and close my eyes.

Suddenly I hear a noise: Legolas’ bow is whistling, the arrow flies away into the night with a sharp hiss. I take up all my courage and look after it. A winged shadow must be hovering above us, but no, now it is falling down. It must have been hit. There are cries again, but this time they sound more disturbed. Then it gets quiet, and for the whole night we hear no sound from the opposite shore.

 

After some time Aragorn tells us to go on, further up the river. We’re paddling tiredly against the current alongside the shore until we reach a shallow bay. There we wait for dawn. No one is really sleeping, awake we’re lying in the boats listening to the nightly noises and the other’s whispered talks. Most of them are disputing what the winged shadow above us could have been. Frodo apparently has an inkling, but he doesn’t want to speak about it. He just tells us that it wasn’t a Balrog. Then there is silence for a while until Sam and Frodo start talking again, this time about time itself. Sam’s wondering about the passing of a whole month since we arrived in Lórien, so Legolas and Aragorn tell him about the time there: that it indeed seems pass more slowly because you feel it pass like Elves might feel it, faster and more slowly at the same time. Then again everyone is quiet.

Míriel next to me seems to be sleeping, but I can’t sleep a single wink. My hand rests upon the sword hilt, I am ready to jump up and draw my weapon at any second. But the night passes without anything to happen. Only the weather does change: The air grows warmer and stiller, from the South there are more and more clouds coming up and soon covering the sky completely. The next morning we find the river behind a mighty layer of fog. The opposite shore can’t be seen what must be our luck because so the Orcs cannot spot us. Yet the fog also makes it more difficult for us to find the path leading past Sarn Gebir.

Boromir again raises a query whether it would be cleverer to go west to Minas Tirith immediately, but Aragorn rejects this at once. It looks like he still cannot decide about the way yet, so he hopes to delay his decision as long as possible, even if he tells us it wouldn’t be a good idea in general to cross the swamps at the Mouth of the Entwater. So we will carry the boats over land past the rapids and then pass the Emyn Muil by boat till we reach the Falls of Rauros. There we will have to decide eventually. Boromir continues insisting on his road to Gondor for some time still, but soon it turns out that everyone in this group, except perhaps Merry and Pippin, would rather follow Aragorn than the Gondorian. So he finally gives way but also makes clear his point of leaving our company at Rauros and turning to Minas Tirith, alone if he had to. Curse this Gondorian and his stubbornness! Well, I understand his longing for getting home as soon as possible, but why then does he not simply leave us immediately? Oh well, if he stays I won’t complain too, at least he can handle his sword very well and we need every warrior if the Orcs would decide to attack us later on.

Despite this risk Aragorn now decides to look for the path together with Legolas. The path must have been a work from almost an age ago, when the borders of Gondor still lay far up in the North. The Anduin was used for trading then, and for this reason the mentioned path was made. “Wait for us one day. If we won’t return, choose another leader and follow their lead as good as possible.” Aragorn says before he and Legolas leave us.

Anxiously I watch them climbing up the embankment and disappearing into the fog. I’m terribly nervous. What if one of them gets captured? Then it will be bad for all of us, but mostly for them. I don’t even want to suspect about the horrible things they’re going to do to them to find out anything about the Ring and our quest… and if the Enemy found out about the identity behind Strider… May the Valar protect them! Nervously I play in turns with either my sword or my hair.

Míriel next to me is watching me closely for some time till she suddenly says: “You like him a lot, don’t you?” I look at her, slightly confused. “Who are you talking about?” “Well, Aragorn, of course,” she smiles at me. “Hey, there’s nothing between us… of THAT kind, if you should believe so! We’re friends and that’s it.” But I can’t help from blushing. I am happy that we’re talking in the Sindarin slang of our tribe so no one of companions can understand our little conversation. Only Aragorn and Legolas speak proper Elvish and the ordinary Sindarin language is in some parts so different I took it for another, but related language for many years. Elrond was the first to tell me that the language of the Atharim was an old slang of Sindarin that has merely changed since the First Age. So if Míriel and I speak in our tongue even Aragorn and Legolas should have problems to understand it.

“Yeeaah of course, FRIENDS, I know the meaning of this!” Míriel grins at me. I want to reply but all I can think of is: “We don’t even kiss each other!” Now she almost has to laugh: “And so then they get pregnant!” “Pffff!”

I try my very best to look miffed and turn away, but just not to let her see my smile. “All right, you like him, admit!” Míriel really does not let go. I turn back to her. “Ok, if it makes you happy: I like him. But no more!” She laughs again, and this time I do not turn away yet the smile on my face is even brighter. Because I can see two figures appearing through the fog and Aragorn cries while still climbing down through the wet grass:

“Everything is all right! There is a path and it leads to a good landing point. It is not far, not much further than a mile.  We only have to get the boats and our luggage from here to the path. We could not find the northern landing point, so we will have to carry all the stuff.” “That will not be easy, even if all of us were men,” Boromir grumbles. “Yet all will try their very best,” Aragorn tells him and Gimli adds: “Yes, we will! The legs of men falter on an uneven road while a dwarf goes on, even if he carries a load twice his own weight, Master Boromir!” Boromir looks at him in surprise and I have to bite back a grin. I better go and help Legolas emptying the boats and carrying the luggage up to the path.

 

The boats were surprisingly light and easy to carry, so we are ready to go on in the early evening already, despite we had to go the whole way twice to get our luggage, too. Well, theoretically we could go on now, but it’s getting dark already. It is late February only, the days are short yet. We are all very tired, but still we set watches.

The night passes without any events except a short drizzle an hour before dawn. When finally we have enough light we leave the southern landing point and keep as close as possible to the western shore. Perhaps we will manage to escape the Orcs unnoticed. It is late morning already when it starts to rain, and quite heavy too. Within seconds we’re soaked to the skin. With curses Míriel and I draw the skin-covers over our boat to prevent it from being flooded.

The rain, however, doesn’t last long and by noon the clouds break and we can see the pale blue sky spread above our heads. The riverbed now becomes narrower and the river is running faster, soon the rough rocks on the shore are only floating by. In the distance I now spot two high pinnacles of rock looking almost like pillars. There is only a shallow way between them and the river is running right towards this gate.

“Behold the Argonath, the Pillars of the Kings!” I can hear Aragorn crying further ahead. These now are the Pillars of the Kings that shall guard Gondor as they used to say. I look up to them reverentially. Isildur and Anarion, the two Númenórean watchmen, lay their shadows upon us and we float by into the dark chasm of the Gates. Our boat is now floating next to Aragorn’s one. Looking at him from the corner of my eyes I recognize for the first time for myself that he and no other is the rightful heir of Kings. He is sitting straight and upright, his dark hair blowing in the wind and a light is in his eyes. This is Aragorn, Son of Arathorn, Elessar, Elfstone, Heir of Elendil, a king returning from exile to his own land.

My admiring view is holding him a bit too long, I soon feel Míriel’s paddle between my ribs: “Aye, there is nothing between you two? Well, I’d rather say nothing _yet_!” I look at her with played anger. “Anyway he is far too high a rank for me,” I mumble, in defense but perhaps, if I’m completely honest, in disappointment also.

Has my sister indeed heard this slightly disappointed undertone in my voice? She’s looking at me almost pitiful now, and then she says as to comfort me: “If you should not deserve a king, Lúthien, I cannot think of anyone else!” I smile at her. Yet I don’t even know if I would like to marry anyway. Even if he was a king, could I ever be able to take on a subordinate role to a male after those long years of freedom? And would I even like having a family and children myself? The best will be to return to the North after the war will be over. When I finally got my revenge I might even find my peace there. And perhaps Míriel would join me, who knows?


	15. The Other Side of the Sundering Seas

At the end of the narrow chasm the Anduin flows into the Nen Hithoel, a long oval lake in the Emyn Muil with thickly wooded shores and the Falls of Rauros on the opposite end. Behind Tol Brandir the mist that is always hanging over a waterfall can be seen. On the western shore, that is lying under the shadows of the mountains already, the slopes go down to the water gently. Only the eastern peaks are still lit in the dusk. 

Here we will rest tonight. There is a nice place right under the Amon Hen. “This is the lawn of Parth Galen. Let us hope that evil has not come here yet.” Aragorn tells us to pull the boats ashore and then we make camp and soon go to sleep, but still set watches.

 

I got the last watch before dawn. When we change the guard Aragorn tells me that probably Orcs are close. Even if they were no more than scouts somewhere on the other side of Nen Hithoel we have to be very careful. Sword drawn I sit down next to the burnt out fire and pay attention to everything I sense. I mainly trust my hearing, I cannot see that much between the trees in the slowly rising dawn. 

The day comes like fire and smoke. To the east there are heavy black clouds covering the sky like the smoke of a giant pyre. They are lit by the sun, their lower half is set aflame with a dirty red light. The top of Tol Brandir looks like dipped in gold. Still I have no good feeling about this day, I sense that it will bring some unpleasant decisions for all of us. 

And right after breakfast Aragorn brings one of them up, addressed to Frodo and himself: “You are the Ringbearer. You have to choose your way. Who wants to follow you shall do so, and if not our ways will part here.” Frodo asks for one hour time to think about it and then disappears into the forest to think about his decision alone. 

Pitiful I watch him walking between the grey and leafless trees. I for my part have already made up my mind. My way will be Aragorn’s way, and I hope that Míriel will join me. Since our first day on the Anduin when I told her about or people she has asked a lot of questions about the Atharim, but I couldn’t answer all of them. She now hopes – as do I – to find some of these answers in the great library in Minas Tirith. So I’m not all sure about her way, should Aragorn decide to go to Mordor instead of Gondor. 

“Where do you want to go?” I finally ask her. Míriel only shakes her head, and with a strange look at Boromir she answers: “If I had to decide this, I would make for Minas Tirith. But Frodo, I think, and Aragorn, too, will go to Mordor directly. So you also will go to Mordor, I suspect.” “Aye, ‘course.” “So I think I will stay with you… though I would love to go to Minas Tirith.” 

“ You want to know more about our people, don’t you?”  She doesn’t reply but her view drives off into the distance, so I take this as a ‘yes’. “You needn’t do this for me, Míriel. You’re old enough, and I am not even your mother. If you’d prefer to go to Gondor, just do it. You are not accountable to me, nor do you owe me anything else.” S

he looks at me, long and thoughtfully. “Lúthien, I want to go to Gondor. I want to know more about the Atharim. But I also want to stay with you. I’m afraid we might never meet again if we part now.” Slowly I nod. The very same thought is running through my mind all the time since we left Lórien. 

“Nonetheless, you have to do what seems right to you. And do not regret your decision afterwards.” She gives me a hug. Then she whispers: “So you won’t be angry if I choose to go to Gondor with Boromir?” There it is again, the strange look in her eyes. But I simply smile at her. “How could I? It is your life, and one day we will meet again, I’m sure. Even if it is at the other side of the stars… we will meet again!” I wipe away some tears. 

“Lúthien, I beg you, come to Minas Tirith as soon as this war is over. Promise me!” I nod: “As soon as possible, I will come.” Again she gives me a hug, then she stands up and begins to pack her stuff. I watch her, and again I can feel tears burning in my eyes. My little sister Míriel has grown up, she’s chosen her own way. But we will meet again one day, this I swear by the high Valar and the sacred Amon Uilos.

 

Meanwhile we’re all sitting together and talk to each other. We try our very best to do otherwise, but always our thoughts stray back to Frodo and his decision. Aragorn thinks it was better if not everyone went eastwards with Frodo if he would choose this way. Merry and Pippin are outraged by this, they don’t want to go to Minas Tirith with Boromir, Míriel and perhaps Legolas. Sam adds that Frodo likely would prefer going alone because he wouldn’t want to risk the death of a friend. This sounds quite plausible to me; this must be why he’s hesitating for so long to make a final decision. Aragorn, too, thinks this to be the reason, but also adds that it was about time for Frodo to return because the hour had long passed. 

Then Boromir is walking towards our camp, coming from the forest, whatever he has done there, and he doesn’t look too happy. “Where have you been, Boromir? Have you seen Frodo?” Aragorn asks insistently. Boromir’s hesitating for a second before he replies: “Yes and no. Yes, I have seen him some way up the hill. I wanted him to go to Minas Tirith, and then I got angry. He simply disappeared. I haven’t ever seen a thing like this before. He must have used the Ring, I can’t explain it otherwise. I couldn’t find him again. I thought he would return to you.” 

There is a strange undertone in his voice. I don’t believe he’s lying, but neither is he telling all the truth. Aragorn gives him a stern look: “This is all you have to tell us?” “Yes. I will say no more!” Boromir answers dryly. 

Sam jumps up with an angry cry: “Something’s not right ‘bout this! I don’t know what this man wanted, but why should Mister Frodo use the Ring?” The Hobbits start discussing wildly, I am not able to understand all of their conversation. They speak some slang of Westron, but if they speak quickly I don’t get on so well with their a bit more modern pronunciation and some of the words they use are not used in the ancient gondorian style I know. But Aragorn I understand at least: 

“How long is it since you saw Frodo for the last time, Boromir?” he asks. “Half an hour. Or even an hour, I cannot say it for certain. I walked around for some time. I don’t know!” Boromir sighs, then he sits down and buries his face in his hands. Míriel’s running over to him at once. I shake my head. There is a feeling that the library is not the only reason for my sister to choose Minas Tirith. But well, she’s old enough. Perhaps she might even marry the proud, but gentle son of the Steward one day… 

But Sam gets my attention again: “One hour since he’s disappeared!” The Hobbit screams. “We must try and find him as soon as possible! Come on!” He tells Merry and Pippin. “Wait!” Aragorn exclaims. “We must make groups and search systematically –“ But the Hobbits pay no attention to him, they’re running off like crazy and into the forest, Legolas and Gimli follow them. Now Aragorn and myself are the only ones still standing and Míriel sitting next to Boromir. 

Aragorn groans: “We will scatter and get lost all together! Boromir, I don’t know what part you played in this, but help me now! Go after those two young Hobbits and look after them, even if you don’t find Frodo. Míriel, stay here or go with Boromir. Lúthien, you stay with me or with your sister, unless you stay here. Come back to this point as soon as you have found Frodo or any sign of him. I’ll be back soon.” 

With those words he turns around and runs off into the forest, after Sam. I choose to follow him, Míriel and Boromir follow Merry and Pippin. Aragorn and I soon overtake the panting Hobbit who’s calling Frodo’s name again and again and run up the hill. 

“Come with us, Sam! None of us should wander alone. There is an evil fate lying upon us today, I can feel it,” Aragorn tells him when we pass him. I’m trying hard to keep up with his speed, I don’t want to lose him. If I did I would be standing in the woods all alone and I definitely would not like this. Better running up this stupid mountain at all speed. 

Aragorn holds at a small stream for a moment. I can see the footsteps someone left in the soft mud. “Frodo went up to the top. I wonder what he has seen there. But he came back the same way and went down.” “Yeah I can see,” I reply breathless. “I would be more interested in what you’re going to do now.” 

Aragorn hesitates for a moment. “I would like to go up to the top myself. Perhaps I saw something that helped me with my decision. But time is short.”  After another short time of thinking he runs further up. I follow him and try my best not to lose him from sight. 

When I finally reach the top, breathing heavily, he’s standing upright in front of the Seat of Seeing, looking from North to the South and back to the North again. “The sun is darkened, and the world beyond lies remote in the twilight,” he murmurs. When he turns to the West again, we hear sounds of battle, muffled cries and the clinging sound of metal clashing. 

We look at each other in horror. These cries are Orcs’ cries, no doubt. But while we’re still standing rigid with horror a horn sounds, deep and resonant. The echo is thrown from one mountain side to the other, it steadily rises and falls. “Boromir’s horn!” Aragorn cries. “He is in need!” 

Back we go, running down the ancient stone steps and following the path downhill, always heading for the direction the cries came from. “There is an evil fate upon me today,” Aragorn groans while we’re running. “Everything I do goes wrong. Where is Sam?” The Hobbit was not on the top of the hill with us, he fell back at the very beginning already. But there is no time to look for him now. 

The Orcs’ cries get ever louder and shriller, the horn calls more desperate and silent till they finally break off. We draw our swords and with a cry I go on, straight through the undergrowth, with the intention to cut down some of these terrible creatures as soon as possible.

 

Not far from the lake and perhaps one mile from Parth Galen we find Boromir. He’s sitting on the ground, leaning to a tree and is pierced by many arrows. His sword’s still in his right hand but the blade is broken. In my heart I know at once that he will not survive this. 

Aragorn runs to him immediately. When he kneels next to him, Boromir opens his eyes, and with some difficulty he finally says: “I tried to take the Ring from Frodo. I am sorry. I have paid.” His view wanders over his dead enemies, then it is veiled with pain. “I couldn’t save them. Wanted to protect them. The hobbits were taken by the Orcs. I don’t think they’re dead. The Orcs bound their hands.” 

Silence falls again. After a short moment he speaks again: “Farewell, Aragorn! Go to Minas Tirith and save my people! I have failed. 

"Lúthien, I am so sorry I couldn’t help her. Forgive me, please.” I stare at him. Who is he talking about? I can see only him and the many bodies lying around everywhere. Aragorn takes his hand now and kisses his forehead gently. “No, Boromir, you did not fail. Few have ever gained such a victory. Find peace! Minas Tirith will not fall!” 

Boromir smiles at his gentle words, and I can feel his spirit leaving him. Tears come to my eyes and Aragorn is weeping a little, too. “Alas! So dies the heir of Denethor, Lord of the Tower of Watch! This is a bitter end. Now the fellowship is broken indeed. It is I who has failed. Gandalf’s trust in me was in vain. What shall I do now? Boromir has laid it upon me to go to Minas Tirith, and my heart longs for it. But our true aim lies to the East, not to the South.” 

He sighs and begins to put the dead Uruks on a pile. I just want to help him when I see something that catches my attention. Under a high tree lie three dead Orcs, and beneath the corpses – red curls… 

My heart nearly stops beating. 

I run to the place and roll the bodies away. A cry bursts out of my throat, it is like falling into a bottomless depth. In front of me lies Míriel, pale and with eyes shut. A knife is stuck between her ribs yet her beautiful, elven-like face is unstained. 

My whole body is shaking when I take her into my army. “Míriel! Do not leave me!” I whisper desperately. Tears are running from my eyes, falling down and covering her face as well as mine. 

And really, she opens her eyes. “Lúthien!” Her voice is nearly inaudible. “Lúthien, my sister. Forgive me. Boromir tried to save me, but it was too late.” She hesitates before going on: “I want you to know: We wanted to marry. I didn’t want to tell you yet. But he is also dead now.” Now there are tears in her eyes, too. 

“Míriel, don’t! Please, do not leave me! Perhaps I can heal you!” She’s smiling. “Your faithful heart honors you, Lúthien. But you know as well as I do that I am beyond any aid. This dagger has pierced my heart and life has almost left me. Now it lies with you what will become of our people.” S

he closes her eyes, but still I can feel her shallow breathing. “Lúthien! I wish you all the luck of this world. Bring peace for Men. I know you can do this. And do not despair. We will meet again, on the other side of the Sundering Seas. I promise you,” she whispers. 

A trembling runs through her body. “Míriel!” But my desperate sobs she hears no more. 

 

I hold her tight to my chest until Aragorn appears behind me - some hours later apparently - and gives me a careful hug. “Lúthien, I am so terribly sorry. I wish I could do anything for her, but we must go on. We have buried Boromir, and Sam and Frodo apparently went to Mordor alone. Now we have to try and save Merry and Pippin.” 

Legolas steps besides him. “What shall we do with Míriel? We cannot leave her right here.” 

I nod silently. Then I kiss my sister’s forehead and carefully put her down into the soft grass.  I spot that she’s still wearing the necklace our mother once gave to her. As if she had had an inkling that our lives would be destroyed only some days after. 

Carefully I take the necklace and put it on myself. “ I hope you understand this. It is the only thing besides the weapons that still bears the memories of them,” I whisper to her, despite her not being able to hear me anymore. 

Then I stand up. My whole body is trembling but I know that I have to do this. When I was younger I took it for simply a tradition, but now I know that there is more behind it. 

On the edge of the glare are yellow and white flowers blossoming. Of these I pluck some hands full, then I walk back. Aragorn, Legolas and Gimli are standing are keeping a respectful distance to Míriel and me. I cross her hands on her chest. Then I begin to scatter the flowers on her body while singing quietly. 

As soon as the flowers touch the ground or Míriel’s body they begin to put forth roots and to grow. More and more flowers are now shooting up and I continue singing until my sister is lying in a flat tomb overgrown with flowers. “Take care of her, Nienna! My Lady Este, if she was worthy of you, watch over her. I beg you for your blessing,” I whisper, then I rise. 

Legolas looks at me, astonished. “You are a child of Este!” 

I simply nod. Then I draw my short elvish dagger and cut my palm. Blood drips from my hand onto the grave. “Míriel, I promise: If you as well as our parents and our brothers are revenged, I will return. I will return to you, and I will return to our village. I will see to you not being forgotten,” I whisper quietly. 

Then I turn away. I have lost my sister again, but apparently this time she is lost forever. 


	16. Lost

The rest of the day and the whole night we spend running. Aragorn’s following the Orc trail and we others are following Aragorn. The only brief rest we had was just before dawn, but I could neither rest nor eat. The Ranger now leads us north, assuming that the Orcs would try to cross the plains of Rohan as fast as possible. 

We also pass some slain Orcs, a riddle for Gimli but Aragorn explains it with arguments between the Orcs themselves. I don’t even care about this;  apathetically I follow the others. In my thoughts I’m still sitting on that little glare at Parth Galen next to the flower-covered mound. 

With the first light we reach the end of the Emyn Muil. To the South there is Gondor, right in front of us lies Rohan. Gondor… Míriel would have become the future Steward’s wife… Tears are burning in my eyes again. I lower my head and discreetly wipe over my face. “Gondor! If I but had seen you again in an hour more happy! My path does not lead yet to the South to your light rivers,” I hear Aragorn saying. I’d love to have his problems! I grit my teeth and somehow manage not to burst into tears. Then I take a deep breath. I have to continue running. 

My hand closes around the amulet Míriel bore and that is mine now. It was my mother’s, once, and before my grandmother’s. It must be much older, and I, too, suspect that it has something to do with the tradition of our people. Now my thoughts are focused on this green veined stone on the short leather ribbon around my neck. It is well that Aragorn and Legolas are leading, so I don’t have to pay attention where we’re walking. 

What might be the story behind this amulet? The stone is flat and smooth and polished, it is shimmering brown, more reddish or yellowy depending on the light. In between are blue-green lines, thin as hair, they are lending the stone a mysterious appearance. On the one side I can see a leaf engraved into the stone with softly curved lines. Above the leaf are seven stars. On the other side I spot tiny runes I haven’t paid any attention at yet. Right now there is no time to do so after all, it is already hard not to fall over when you’re concentrating on something completely different while walking, even if the ground beneath the soft grass is dry and even. 

Around noon Aragorn finds a trail from a Hobbit’s feet leading away some meters from the Orc trail and back to it afterwards. At the point furthest away Aragorn has found a brooch: a green and silver leaf as we are wearing it, too, to fasten our Lothlórien coats around our necks. “This could have been Pippin,” Aragorn suspects. “And I, too, think that he did not drop it accidentally. No, he must have put it here with the hope that it was found by someone.” 

“So one at least was still alive. This encourages me, we do not pursue those Orcs in vain,” Gimli adds. Aragorn looks at me: “What do you think, Lúthien?” I only shrug my shoulders vaguely. “We should go on,” I finally say quietly. This is all they get to hear from me for the entire day.

 

At nightfall Aragorn eventually decides that we will not go on during the night. For some time I just remain standing next to the three males who are already lying on the ground trying to get some rest. 

I am unable to do anything, I fear this night. While running I could bring my thoughts to other things, but the memories are already overwhelming me. I can see Míriel right before me again, her pale face, the knife and the terrible wound in her chest… A sob forces its way out of my throat, my whole body’s shaking, I drop to the ground. 

Aragorn rises and walks over to me. “Lúthien!” he whispers calmingly as he sits down next to me. I don’t want any comfort, I don’t think that anybody or anything could sooth this pain in my very heart. So I just lay down on my side curled into a ball with my back towards Aragorn. His hand is resting on my shoulder. It strangely comforts me, the knowledge of someone being there. I close my eyes and cry myself to sleep. 

 

When I awake the next morning it is not even day yet, only a slightest trace of grey is to be seen. But we have to press on. But as soon as I am half-awake, there are those dark images back in my mind. I am quite sure they will haunt me for the rest of my life. If she only had stayed in Lórien! Again my hand clutches around the amulet unconsciously. I still haven’t had time yet to decipher the writing on the rear. 

I am running between Legolas somewhere ahead of me and Gimli some meters behind. The dwarf is panting and cursing all the time. I have to smile a little bit. His complaints remind me of Finwë, my youngest brother when Fëanor and I tried to teach him how to fight. When he was beaten by Fëanor again and again and finally didn’t even want to pick up his sword anymore. Míriel always was more eager, she fought with burning white flames in her eyes and with a motivation none of us ever had. When she was eight years old she had a punch-up with Maedhros, the smith’s son… She really beat him up, for three weeks he could hardly walk. 

A tear runs down my cheek, but I have to smile. My Míriel… I was so proud of her. And I still am, certainly always will be. Another tear leaves my eye. The day our mother sent us to the forest to find some herbs… the last day in my miserable life I was able to feel something like easiness or even joy without guilt… but what even is joy? 

I wipe my sleeve over my eyes and only then recognize Aragorn who is walking next to me now. Legolas is now further behind. Looks like the guys have slowed their pace without me noticing it. Aragorn even tries talking to me: “Lúthien, you have to eat something.” I give him a look so dark that he has to bite back a grin. “Do you honestly think I could swallow a single bite? After everything that has happened?”  He ignores my objection and throws a wafer of Lembas to me. I growl at him and throw it back. He just shrugs his shoulders and leaves me in peace for now. 

We go on till nightfall. When dusk finally blurs all the shapes in this flat landscape. Hills are in front of us now, the plains are undulating but still treeless and overgrown with high, soft grass. Again Aragorn decides to rest this night because the moon still isn’t much of a help, as thin as it is yet, and even covered with clouds. In this almost utter darkness even the experienced Ranger doesn’t want to lead us on without any hints. 

I sink down into the grass, pulling my legs to my chest and curl my arms around my knees. Then I close my eyes and again the loss is overwhelming. Like my heart being ripped out of my chest, every beat makes me lose it a little more. Tears of desperation are covering my face. And just like last night Aragorn is lying close to me, his hand on my shoulder. This closeness, but this respectful distance at the same time… it is really comfortable. This night again I manage to fall asleep without problems.

 

Again I wake up before dawn and we’re back on the run shortly after. “The Uruks are three times twelve hours ahead by now,” Aragorn sighs when we reach a place where the Orcs must have had a short rest. “It is likely that they have reached Fangorn Forest last night.” His view hits my eyes. “Lúthien? What’s the matter?” My hair’s hanging like a protecting curtain covering my face, yet despite this he can see my tears. “Nothing,” I whisper shaking my head. Well, you probably cannot call it ‘nothing’, but what else am I supposed to say? I mean, it’s quite obvious that the desperation about Míriel’s dead now comes together with the certainty that we will not even manage to free the Hobbits from captivity. On top of that I’m tired, we’ve been running for three days now with almost no rest after all. 

Still, we do not give up the hunt. Who knows what might expect us at the borders of this forest in the end? This evening we leave that rolling hills behind. The sun’s sinking behind the Ered Nimrais and makes everything glow in a red and warm light. A cool wind’s blowing from the North. We’re still standing between the last foothills, in front of us is spread a wide and flat plain, the Wold of Rohan. 

“Let us walk up this green hill!” Legolas apparently is not tired at all, unlike us. We follow him up. I am rather exhausted, even my clothes seem to be pulling me down, not to mention my sword and other weapons. When we have finally reached the top I have a rather odd feeling: we look like the only living people on the whole world, three small figures clad in elvish grey standing in the middle of an enormous and rough sea. 

“Well, I cannot see anything helpful,” Gimli tells us. He is as resigned as I am. “Looks like we have to rest here for another night. It’s going cold!” “The wind’s blowing down from the snow-covered mountains in the North,” Aragorn tells him. “And before dawn it will come from the East,” Legolas adds. “But sleep then, if you must. But do not give up hope. You cannot know what tomorrow will bring. Sunrise might help us to see things clearer.” “Three times the sun has risen while our hunt and didn’t make anything clearer,” Gimli murmurs. 

Three times the sun has risen, three new days full of despair for me, and tomorrow there will be no difference. But I drop to the ground and try to escape into sleep. My feet hurt. My heart hurts even more. 

I am just about to doze off when Aragorn is sitting down next to me. Not at my back, but in front of me this time and he looks into my eyes. “Lúthien, you really have to eat something!” Without a word I turn around, but he simply walks around me and sits down again right in front of my face. “I can’t eat,” I growl and try to turn around again, but this time he seizes me. Now I try to be diplomatic: “Would you not give me the grace of letting me sleep? I am tired, and so you certainly are.” He smiles, but his hold on my shoulder is still tight. “I will leave you at peace as soon as you have eaten something, some bites of Lembas at least.” I groan and wrest myself from his grip. He walks away and for a second I really hope he has given up. But far from it: When he sits down next to me again, he has some Lembas with him. “You’re serious ‘bout this?” I ask him slightly annoyed. He’s smiling at me with studied friendliness: “Either you go and eat this now, or we’ll be spending our whole night that way.” 

I curse silently at him but unfortunately he’s holding the whip hand, so I sit up again. From the wafer he’s holding out towards me I break off a tiny piece and put it in my mouth. After chewing it for some minutes I finally make myself swallow it. I have to fight the nausea rising up to my throat but eventually I manage to take a deep breath and the food stays where it’s supposed to be. I look at him stubbornly: “Are you going to leave me now?” He just shakes his head and breaks off another piece of Lembas, this time a bigger one. I glare at him but then I take it nonetheless. 

Actually I _do_ feel hungry, but Míriel’s death and the pain it has caused have really worn me out. I nibble at the piece for some time, then I give in and eat it. I still have this horrible feeling at first, but it is easier to fight the nausea this time. Now Aragorn’s holding out the whole wafer towards me. With a sigh I take it and bite off a piece. “Satisfied?” Aragorn nods, but stays till I really have eaten the whole of it. Then I lay down again and turn around. This time he stays where he is and just like the nights before he puts his hand on my shoulder. And despite I can feel tears in my eyes again I have a small smile on my lips when I finally fall asleep.

 

It’s getting colder during the night. Now and again I wake up and see Legolas standing next to us keeping watch or whatever. Sometimes he’s silently singing in Elvish. The clouds are torn apart in some places and you can see the stars clearly piercing through the darkness. 

It must be almost dawn when I hear Aragorn’s quiet voice from behind me: “Lúthien, you’re trembling.” He is right, I feel terribly cold and the chill wind blowing from the East now doesn’t really help to comfort me. I am chattering my teeth in response. Carefully he pulls me towards him. “May I?” he whispers. “I don’t want to dishonor you in any way,” he adds quickly. I only nod, his body heat is the only thing I’m interested in at the moment. Still shaking I snuggle up against him. 

The rest of the night I spend almost comfortable, at least I’m not cold anymore. The four of us watch the sunrise and the lighting of the wide lands to the North up to the Misty Mountains that are covered in light mist and hardly visible. On their slopes we can imagine the forest of Fangorn spread out like a black cloth. Closer to us I can see a black shade that is moving. Aragorn and Legolas think it to be riders that are approaching now quickly. We don’t have a chance to escape in this flat area without any trees, we can’t even hide. But in fact I don’t really care whether I will drop dead right here immediately or those riders will skewer me with one of their spears in some time. My life hasn’t already been much of a worth since my family’s death, and since Míriel has now died, too, I wish almost to be dead myself. Then I would not have to carry this pain in my soul any longer… 

“We will wait here for those riders,” Aragorn tells us. “I am tired, and our hunt was in vain. Or others were the faster. Those people follow the Orc trail backwards. They might give us some information.” Slowly we descend and sit down in the soft grass on the foot of the hill. The sun’s shining into my face. Despite the air being chill it already warms a little bit now in late February. 

I almost drift off to sleep again, but right in this moment Legolas tries to start a conversation with me. “How comes you have pronounced Este’s blessing upon Míriel?” he asks me curiously. Este’s blessing? Is he talking about the flowers on her grave? My heart starts bleeding with only the thought of the small glare close to Nen Hithoel. “

If you’re talking ‘bout those flowers: It’s an ancient tradition of our people. It’s part of my life. If I hadn’t done this, Míriel would not have been allowed to enter the Undying Gardens of Este,” I reply with hoarse voice. 

He looks at me in bewilderment. “You are… one of the Atharim?” I only nod, so he continues: “But I have always thought this people, if it ever existed at all, had sailed west at the end of the First Age.” I laugh wryly. “Yeah, thought so, too. Till Elrond informed me shortly before we left Rivendell.” 

Now Aragorn interferes in that conversation, too: “I have heard that the Atharim made for Númenor, together with Elros Tar-Minyatur. Elendil has married a princess of the Atharim as is still told among the Dúnedain. And Isildur and Anarion shall have had a sister, Idril Ancalimë. She withdrew into the forests of the North with all that was left of her people. Her skills in healing must have been extraordinary.” “Idril… that was my mother’s name…” I murmur silently. 

Then we keep quiet and do not move until the riders are only some more meters apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From this part on I am not so sure about the quality of the plot and whether I managed to depict her feelings the way I intended.  
> Please feel free to leave comments and tell me what you think. :)


	17. Into Fangorn Forest

While I am listening to Aragorn discussing with the leader of those riders said leader studies me from head to toe. Apparently he does not really know what to think of me. I am quite familiar with such gazes, wearing weapons and armor few people recognize me to be a woman at once.

His looks linger on me until Aragorn introduces us to this rider: “And these are my companions, Gimli son of Gloin, Legolas Thranduilion and Lúthien Nienor.” The Rider, whose name is Éomer as I have just learned, is looking at me now even more skeptically. I fix my gaze at his one till he becomes aware of this and awkwardly looks away. But I can almost feel what he’s thinking about me. With a shake of my head I turn my attention back to the conversation.

Éomer’s just telling that the all Orcs are slaughtered and that unfortunately they didn’t see any Hobbits. I bite my lips nervously. Should our hunt really have been in vain? But Aragorn doesn’t give up so easily, he now decides to follow the Orc’s trail back to the forest at first and then we will have to turn around every single blade of grass to find any hint of our beloved Hobbits.

Éomer would like us better to come to Edoras with him to support him and his people in the upcoming war, but for now Aragorn rejects this proposal politely: “We will come, but first we have to find our friends.”

This Éomer does understand, and on top of that he even lends us two horses. And this certainly are the best news I got since I met Míriel again: I can ride! Well, I have to share one horse with Aragorn, but I don’t have to walk anymore.

As I now climb into the saddle behind Aragorn I feel almost… happy. A strange feeling, happiness and this searing pain in my heart at the same time.

 

I hang on to Aragorn as not to fall down, but he senses that this is not my trouble at the time. “Would you like to ride?” he finally asks. “This would perhaps help you to think of something other.” This offer is well-meant; I could even out of policy not reject it. So we swap our seats.

I haven’t ridden a horse for almost a year, but as soon as the reigns are in my hands I know what to do. Aragorn at my back carefully studies the ground not to miss any tracks. Although there is apparently nothing important he could find, except some orc bodies we pass now and again.

The sun is already setting behind the Misty Mountains when we reach the forest in the late afternoon.

While we rode on clouds are gathered. At first they were only wisps, but now in the evening the whole sky is covered. We have now almost reached the forest. Hopefully it won’t start raining, this would be most uncomfortable… but otherwise the weather would eventually fit with my mood, then.

Since my sister’s funeral the sun was shining all the time and even the temperature was almost spring-like on some days. And Míriel will never again see spring… I take a deep breath and look ahead.

In front of us the edge of the forest mounts and a great pyre can be seen between the first trees. The ashes are still glowing. Next to the pyre is a pile of the Uruks’ swords, spears and armor. In the middle of the pile a great spear is stuck, on its top an Orc’s head. On the cloven and dented helmet the sing of the White Hand is still visible.

It is satisfaction that fills my heart in this moment, looking at this battlefield. Those Orcs were the very same who murdered my sister. Those Orcs were the very same who took Merry and Pippin captive; and those Orcs were the very same we were hunting through the whole North of Rohan.

Our hunt was in vain, but at least its ending isn’t as sobering as I would have expected yesterday. Although we find no sings of the Hobbits, but we decide to continue our search in the morning.

 

Under a high and ancient tree we make camp. After listening to Aragorn’s lectures about ‘collecting wood in Fangorn Forest’ Gimli finally lights a fire. We’re sitting around it tiredly. After some time Legolas breaks the silence. “Celeborn warned us not to go into Fangorn. Do you know why, Aragorn? What are those tales Boromir has heard of?” he asks. Right, and Boromir also had mentioned once that he thought Fangorn to be quite dangerous.

“I have heard many tales, in Gondor and elsewhere,” Aragorn replies. “But if not Celeborn himself had warned us I would take them for tales Men make up if true knowledge fails. And if a wood Elf does not know, what could a Man possibly tell you?” ”You have travelled further than I have. At home I’ve heard nothing about this except some songs in which the Onodrim, who Men call Ents, lived here a long time ago.

"Fangorn is old, very old, even after the reckoning of the Elves,” Legolas says. “Yes, very old indeed,” Aragorn says. “As old as the Old Forest at the Barrow-downs, and it is much greater. Elrond told me that the two once were related, the last remains of the mighty forests of the Elder Days, when the firstborn were wandering and Men still slept. But Fangorn has its own secrets. What these are I do not know.”

“And I don’t want to know,” Gimli adds. “May nothing that lives in Fangorn be disturbed on my account!”

“Well, I for my part would think it quite interesting to know more about the truth behind the stories about this forest,” I tell the others. They look at me, astonished. These are the first words since my sister’s dead I have spoken without being asked. Yet I continue:

“I, too, have heard many tales about this forest when I was a child, about Fangorn as well as the Old Forest. But I don’t think it is dangerous. It is only watchful. I think it doesn’t want to reveal his secrets that easily.”

Legolas looks at me thoughtfully. “You could be very right with this thought,” he murmurs. Then we draw lots to see who must hold the watch tonight. Gimli is the first, I am the second, Legolas’ third and Aragorn the last one.

I lay down on the ground wearily. It is not cold next to the fire, this night I will not die due to the cold. And Míriel is, at least partly, revenged. This thought lets me drift off quickly.

 

I wake up with the feeling to have slept only a few seconds. A sudden agitation has startled me. Gimli has leapt to his feet and is holding his axe in both hands.

A look at the fire tells me that no more than thirty minutes can have passed since we went to sleep. Talking of the fire, next to it is sitting an old man wearing a loose dirty coat and a hat. This hat he has pulled down over his eyes and he doesn’t move and doesn’t answer when Aragorn talks to him.

But suddenly he simply disappears.

In shock I look at my companions, but they are as much alarmed and confused as I am. In the distance I can hear neighing horses. Have the Rohirrim indeed returned? Or are we under attack?

Legolas is the first to come over this state of shock we all are in. “The horses, the horses!” he cries out. _Barad_ , now I see it, too! These are _our_ horses I can hear. And they sound far away because they _are_ far away indeed! Those stupid nags have torn themselves away from us and run off! Well, I can’t blame them for this, thinking of this creepy guy who has apparently vanished into smoke. But this also means we will have to walk again tomorrow. And this day had started off so well…

In resignation I lay down again, but nevertheless I fall asleep again.

 

After some more hours I wake up again. To my surprise I see Aragorn sitting next to the fire instead of Gimli. Confused, I get to my feet and join him. Have I overslept my watch? But no, Gimli had certainly woken me then.

“Is it not Gimli’s turn at the moment?” I ask Aragorn. He looks at me. “Oh, I only swapped with him. I have rather to think than to sleep right now.” So I sit down next to him and watch the fire slowly burning down. The stars wield overhead, but we cannot see them through the clouds. Despite the clouds it is very cold, it’s only near the end of February… No, wait, it’s early March. But this doesn’t matter.

I pull my knees to the chest and rest my head on them. My fingers play idly with my necklace. Carefully I trace the soft lines carved into the amulet forming a leave, and the seven glistening stars engraved above. Also the inscription comes to my mind, but the light of the fire is too dim to read it now. Tenderly I stroke the tiny runes.

Aragorn gives me a questioning look. “What’s this?” I tightly wrap my hand around the amulet. “Nothing, Just an amulet Míriel wore before she…“ My voice breaks, I clear my throat. “It was a present given to her by our mother. When she… well, I took it because it reminds me of Míriel as well as my family. Besides the weapons it is the only thing I still have.” Now my hand clutches the stone so tightly that my knuckles appear white.

Aragorn only nods, he asks no more of me. But nonetheless my thoughts are now bent on my sister again. Míriel was an extraordinary good healer, much better than I am. But I had more skills with the sword.

Time passes slowly, but finally Legolas comes to take over the watch. Tiredly I lay down next to Gimli. Aragorn, too, goes to sleep now. Half-asleep I can hear the Elf singing quietly. “Good night, Míriel,” I whisper to the amulet. She will always stay with me in my heart, but still I miss her so much that it physically hurts me.

 

The next morning is cold and cloudy and depressing. Depressing because the horses still have not returned yet and so we will have to walk.

Aragorn is searching for traces of the old man, but there is nothing he can find. This worries us even more, but still we try to ignore the nightly interruption as good as possible and concentrate on our search after the missing Hobbits.

It takes some time, but when I actually already gave up my hopes Aragorn finds a wilted and dried mallorn leaf. It must have enwrapped a piece of Lembas before, so we take this as a further sign for the Hobbits’ survival. Next to the leaf we find cut ropes and a big, black knife with jagged blade. Merry or Pippin or perhaps even both of them must have escaped, at least for some time.

Now the lust of hunting takes hold of me, I search the ground for more traces. “Blood has been spilled here, orc blood,” I point out. Aragorn nods. “It is likely that one Hobbit was carried to this place by an Orc, this Orc got killed afterwards and the Hobbit, if his hands were free, has cut his bonds with this knife.”

“But why should his hands be free?” Gimli interjects. “I don’t know what happened, and I also do not know why an Orc should carry a Hobbit to this place. But not to help him, that’s for certain.”

Aragorn is lost in thoughts. I take hold of my necklace again. Suddenly I get an idea: “They must have had order to capture _Hobbits_. Without any doubt Saruman knew of our mission, and for certain he was it, too, who gave orders to the Uruks bearing the White Hand. They took the Hobbits captive and then went off towards Isengard as fast as possible. One Orc must have tried to bring the prisoners out of the danger zone before the fight had started.”

Even while I’m saying this I recognize how logically this sounds. “It really could have happened that way,” Legolas agrees. “You have an interesting way of thinking, Lúthien.” Aragorn is already on his way into Fangorn Forest. He hopes that the prisoner or the prisoners really might have escaped and then fled to the cover of the trees.

On the edge of the forest he finds more tracks, but still we do not know for certain whether one or even both Hobbits have survived the battle. The only certainty we have at the moment is that the survivors have fled into the wood.

 

Aragorn mainly searches for more tracks next to the river, and indeed we find some after a short while: in the soft mud it is easy to spot the footprints of two Hobbits; two days old already but a sign of hope nonetheless: perhaps we will indeed find Merry and Pippin.

“Here they must have turned away from the riverside,” Aragorn suspects. “And what are we going to do now?” Gimli asks. “We cannot follow them through the whole of Fangorn Forest. We don’t have enough supplies. If we do not find them soon we won’t be able to help them anyway, except by showing them our friendship by starving together.” “If we cannot do anything else then this is what we must. Let us go on.”

Aragorn already turns away and walks into the forest. We follow him and soon come to a steep rock face.

The sun is shining through some gaps between the clouds. This makes the wood look less depressing at once. “Let us walk up this hill,” Legolas suggests. He is the first, Gimli and I follows on his heels, Aragorn is the last. He is searching on the ground for any more tracks, and when he finally reaches the top he tells us: “It is almost certain that the Hobbits have come up here. But there are other tracks, strange tracks… I wonder whether we might see something from up here that could help us.”

I look around, but all I can see are trees and a little bit of the plains of Rohan. So nothing helpful. “We have taken a long way round,” Legolas sighs. “If we had left the river after two or three days and turned westward we all would have come her together and fare more safely.” His words give my already wounded heart another sharp cut, I start sobbing. Perhaps Míriel was still alive then…

Aragorn casts a reproachful glance at Legolas and then says: “Few can see where their way will lead them in the end. And our fate we also cannot change.” He carefully wraps one arm around my shaking shoulders. I take a deep breath and wipe my sleeve over my eyes. “All right, it is all right,” I whisper.

“But we haven’t planned to go to Fangorn,” Gimli points out.

“Yet we have come here – and are right caught in the trap.” Legolas points down the hill. “Look!”

“Look at what?” Gimli asks.

“There under the trees.”

“Where? I don’t have elf eyes!”

“Shhh! Quiet! Down there in the forest, right on the way we have just come along.”

If this hadn’t been so worrying the two of them would almost make me laugh. But the figure drawing near is very likely to be Saruman – who else would walk through Fangorn all clad in dirty grey rags?

Gimli now asks Legolas to kill him at once, but Aragorn exercises a veto: You cannot shoot an old man without warning, even if this really is Saruman. Well, he got a point on this.

Now this beggar, wizard, whatever has apparently spotted us; he’s walking straight towards the hill we’re standing on. He’s looking up at us several times, but still his face is hidden under his hood what makes me feel very uncomfortable. I now really wonder who’s hiding down there.

Strangely, I don’t have a bad feeling about this guy, but still I fear him.


	18. The Way to Go

I almost fell off this plateau when the strange hooded figure turned out to be Gandalf.

In the meantime he has defeated the Balrog, returned from dead and discussed some important matters with the Lady Galadriel.

He also brought us message from her: Aragorn shall think of the Paths of the Dead, Legolas take care of the sea, Gimli she sends her regards and for me she has something useful like only through darkness I could get into light again, and the darker it was now, the brighter the light would shine afterwards. Well, according to this there must be quite a lot of lightness coming up to me.

Then we finally made for Edoras – and for war. Because what else should wait on the end of this road in these evil times?

 

We ride for several hours until dawn when Gandalf finally grants us a short rest. I am so tired I fall asleep almost at once without having any thoughts about something. But after a few hours Legolas already wakes me again.

We cover as much distance in the cold light of the crescent moon as we did yesterday. It is very cold, the sky in the east slowly gets grey, then yellowish and after perhaps an hour the sun rises over the deeply fissured ridges of the Emyn Muil dipping the world in blood. Aragorn is riding, I am sitting behind him and trying to fight off sleep.

When the light has finally grown and the weariness has almost disappeared I wonder what else I could do. The amulet comes to my mind again. I take the necklace off and start reading the runes on the back of the stone. They are Tengwar, but written in such a tiny writing that I can almost not see them properly.

Only one word I can decipher, “Idril”. I almost fall off the horse, get a hold on Aragorn and so almost pull him down with me. Yet he somehow manages to stay in the saddle and seizes me before I fall. “Lúthien, what is the matter? You’re so pale.” I am pale? He should look at himself, he got quite a shock too.

I hold the amulet out towards him. “My… my mother’s name… is written here,” I finally manage to say. “Well, this does not appear _that_ remarkable to me. Have you not told us that this belonged to your mother before Míriel got it?”

I not, but point out: “But before my mother it belonged to my grandmother. And before her to her mother.” “Then it must be a coincidence. One of your ancestors, the first one to wear this amulet, must have been named Idril, too.” His explanation sounds logically.

“I’d love to know how old it is yet,” I tell him quietly.

Aragorn only nods, he looks forward and says to me: “Look, there ahead is Edoras.” I gaze past him: Indeed, the White Mountains are extended over there and on a hill a little jutted out a city can be seen. This must be Edoras, the capital of Rohan. Something golden is glittering in the light of the rising sun between all those houses and I ask Aragorn what this would be. “This is the Golden Hall of Meduseld. Here resides the King of Rohan.”

Rohan. I have never been so far south. When we were little children, my brothers, Míriel and I always dreamt about leaving our home and exploring the wide lands to the South and East, but none of us really thought about going away from home. And now I am here… somehow I cannot really believe this. I clutch my hand tight around my amulet. “Now we are in Rohan, Míriel.” Despite my tears I smile. “I only wish Finwë and Fëanor were here with me now.” Finwë and Fëanor, our brothers. “And you, of course. I miss you.”

Aragorn casts a somewhat strange look at me, but well, in fact I have just started talking to my amulet. Perhaps I should get worried, but at the moment I don’t care about this either. This way I can at least pretend that Míriel was still with me.

And it is almost like she replied to me. Like she smiled at me and said: “Remember, the opposite side of the Sundering Seas. I will be waiting for you.”

I force myself to take a deep breath. Right, I will come. Not yet, but one day I will come. I will not let her wait in vain, and I will find her again.

 

After some discussion with the guards we are eventually allowed to enter Edoras.

For being the capital of Rohan I had imagined it a bit more… magnificent. I mean, this here looks not so different from my old village with the wooden cottages and the children playing in the dirt on the streets. I liked this place at once.

Right now we are standing outside the doors of the Golden Hall. Gandalf’s just broken the spell Saruman had cast over the King of Rohan. Legolas, Gimli, Aragorn and I are standing a little apart from the others and watching King Théoden taking up his sword and quietly talking to Gandalf about Frodo’s mission and the part we played in it so far.

His niece, a beautiful young woman called Éowyn is standing next to the king and watching us. In fact is she mainly watching Aragorn with a strange kind of interest. Then she suddenly turns around and runs towards the house and right into me. She looks as surprised as she had only in this moment noticed me for the first time.

Aragorn locks eyes with me, he seems to be amused by this accident. Great, even my friends are now laughing at me. But thinking of it… when she mentioned me Éowyn’s face was funny indeed.

A little smile tingles around the corners of my mouth. Gimli is the first one to mention it. “Legolas, look at this! Lúthien is smiling again.” He grins at his friend who is now smiling also.

For some time the four of us are just standing there and grinning at each other. But soon I become serious again. “Still, what is going to happen now? What are we doing here and especially: What are we going to do next?”

Legolas tells me that we’re probably going to go to war with the army of Rohan; the Rohirrim will have to fight Saruman if they are to survive the assault of Mordor. And speaking of war, look who’s just arriving: Éomer, joy!

I don’t know why but somehow I’m a little bit surprised to meet him again. And he looks kind of strange without his armor and helmet. He musters me with some interest; I too must look a bit different than I did three days ago.

“Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli! I am glad to see you here,” he welcomes us, “And Lúthien, you are even more beautiful than I did remember you.” He bows low before me. Then he turns towards the king and offers him his sword. But whatever the men are now discussing over there is of no great interest for me now.

What did change that suddenly men are paying me compliments? This has not happened for more than a _yén_. Well, I also have not worn a dress for more than a _yén,_ and since I am wearing men’s clothes not everybody at once mentions me as a woman, but this does not only have disadvantages.

But for now my confused thoughts are interrupted because King Théoden now invites us to have lunch with him; and afterwards we will go to war just as Legolas has foreseen it.

The thought of battle fills me with strange satisfaction. I will be able to revenge my sister and perhaps I will even get the chance to die and so meet her again.

 

* * *

 

 

Lunch was horrible. I had to sit between Aragorn and Éomer.

All in all this is not that bad, but you only have to add Éomer’s flirting towards me and Aragorn’s jealousy or whatever it is to make the situation awful. But luckily we left soon after and are now on our way to Helm's Deep. I try my very best to avoid the Third Marshall of the Riddermark.

Hell, I really don’t understand why Aragorn is that jealous now. I don’t want anything from Éomer and even if I did, Aragorn would always remain my friend… or does the Heir of Elendil now also have a crush on me? By all Valar, this is getting crazy.

I am riding some meters apart from the others, watching the mountains ahead slowly drawing near and talking to myself: “Yeah, and so we are now riding to Helm’s Deep, Míriel. Father sometimes told us about this fortress, do you remember? Fëanor always wanted to go there one day. The fortress that never was taken while Men defended it.

And Finwë always wanted to go to the sea, to the Grey Havens or to Gondor. Who can tell, maybe I will also go there before this is over. So far I have only been to the Icebay of Forochel. What do you think, does the sea in the South look any different from the northern sea?”

I continue this strange talk for some time, thinking about what Míriel, I and our brothers would have experienced. Until a well-known voice wakes me from my day dreams.

“We will make camp here.” Legolas has sneaked up at me without me noticing anything. I turn around and recognize that the soldiers have already begun to light fires and night is falling. I only nod and turn my horse towards Gimli and Aragorn. Legolas follows me.

The four of us make ourselves as comfortable as possible in the soft grass. I had almost hoped to spend a quiet night, but of course Éomer has to show up. “May I just sit down and spend some time with you?” Aragorn only growls something unintelligible and turns away. Legolas doesn’t care and Gimli is already asleep.

I groan almost angrily, this guy is becoming irritating. “What brings you here, Éomer, son of Éomund?” “Well, Lúthien Nienor, I am looking for some pleasant company at this late hour. I hope I am not an inconvenience for you,” he adds quickly. Hah, guess, I think. A friendly welcome must look a bit different. But I try my best to get my act together.

“No, not at all,” I tell him quickly. But as he now sits down between Legolas and myself I also do not try to be very polite. I am tired and downcast and on top of this he now has to keep me from sleeping. Luckily he is fed up with my caustic statements and soon decides to better join the other soldiers from his Éored.

“Apparently you do not like him a lot, do you?” Legolas is watching me carefully through the darkness. We didn’t light a fire, but the pale moon light is enough for his elvish eyes. “I don’t want what he wants, that’s all about it,” I sigh. “And if someone is flirting with me despite I don’t want this, I really hate it. Otherwise I probably would think him quite nice, but… no, I don’t want anything like that from _him._ Éomer and I, this is nothing I can imagine.”

After this short conversation I am finally allowed to lay down and sleep. When I have just wrapped myself into my coat and am about to fall asleep when I feel someone’s hand on my shoulder. Aragorn! He must have heard what I told Legolas about my attitude towards Éomer’s behavior and apparently has realized that his jealousy was totally unfounded.

At this I must smile again, and this makes me also mention that on this day alone I have smiled more often than the whole last week. All in all this day was not that bad.

 

The next day is a little less boring than the last ones were. I ride next to Aragorn and Legolas and we have a nice talk until Éomer shows up. From now on it is almost outright funny because we three exactly know what he wants and what I want.

Even if our fights are only verbal he does not have a real chance against the three of us. It takes us only half an hour to defeat him and soon he accepts this and rides off.

“To be honest, this was the first time I really had fun doing anything,” I tell my friends with a happy smile. “The first time since… Parth Galen.” I can’t force me to say it aloud, but they know what I mean: The first time since Míriel died. “Yet I almost feel sorry for poor Éomer,” Aragorn adds. “Well, me too. But if he doesn’t get it otherwise…” I laugh.

It’s a pity that we or at least I will probably die tonight. We don’t even _appear_ to have a good chance to defeat the whole army of Saruman. Otherwise, if we do not win this battle then I also will not have such a good reason to live anymore. Almost like my doom would be decided this evening, and yet it is already decided, was decided many thousands of years ago, woven into the music of the Ainur. I only can sit here and wait for it to become fulfilled.

 

The air became closer and staler while we approached the mountains. Clouds were gathering and getting more, towering higher and higher. It looks like rain, just what we need for this battle. Additional to Saruman’s force we will get a thunderstorm. Looks like this will become quite a nice evening.

Gandalf, too, has deserted us. He went off and is apparently looking for some Rohan soldiers who survived the fights at the Fords of Isen. I really hope that I will see him again.

We ride south towards the fortress. Deep in the valley, between Helm’s Gate and Helm’s Dike we scout the first Uruks. They shoot at us, but we finish them quickly and without problems.

Later Aragorn tells us what he knows about the fortress. Listening to the strategic advantages of the Deep I become more and more confident that in here we will at least be able to defend ourselves for quite a while. Still I don’t think that we have much of a chance to win this fight, but whatever.

Éomer is now riding with us again, but luckily he ignores me. We can hear the Orcs approaching behind us, their hoarse singing and the ringing of their armor and weapons. Unfortunately night is falling, what is not so good for our chances of surviving, but a great advantage for the Uruks and certainly planned by Saruman. We have to hold the fortress for the whole night, our only possibility is to make it till the morning and then try to overthrow them.

My right hand is playing with my elvish dagger. In its pommel is the same symbol engraved that is to be seen on my amulet. Except for this coat of arms or whatever it is my weapons are bare. I trace the fine lines with my fingertip. The familiar shapes of the leaf and the seven stars calm me.

When we enter the fortress we are hailed by the soldiers from the Westmarch; yet we all know that we have just enough men to set them on the walls, not to mention any kinds of reserve. And yet, standing here on the wall, the solid stone floor beneath my feet and Anglachel in my hands, for the first time I have the feeling that not everything might end here and today.


	19. Blood and Ashes

The host of Isengard approaches slowly. Some of the men who defended the Dike to give us cover manage to retreat to the fortress, then we stand our post and wait. Down in the valley we can see the fires where the Uruks lit houses and barns. They have already begun their work of destruction.

Midnight is already past, the clouds stand dense and threatening. The tension in the air is perceptible. There is a storm brewing; a first lightning flashes and for a split second the whole valley is turned in bright light. With horror I look upon the masses of Uruks that stand squeezed together on the plain; the whole valley is filled with their bodies, their spears and armor and over the Dike and through the breach are coming ever more. It is like looking into a giant anthill. Then it is dark again.

Thunder rolls; the rain comes rushing down like a thick curtain. I am soaked wet within seconds.

The first arrows are shot on us and suddenly a feeling of futility overcomes me. Why should I not die here and now? I could see Míriel again. Perhaps my parents and my brothers are there, too.

I stand on the wall, upright, sword drawn, but I do not even make an attempt to take cover. If it is my fate to fall in this battle it would be better to die sooner than late. And if it is not, then nothing can happen to me anyway, right?

Stubbornly I look down at the Orcs whom I cannot see and only wish to be hit by an arrow. Our archers now accept the challenge and shoot back. The Uruks are forced back, yet they run against the walls over and over again.

Closer to the gate I spot Aragorn and Éomer, both have drawn their swords and are running towards the gate that is attacked by all forces the Orcs have to spend. Said gate is nearly breaking off its hinges.

I would like to follow them and die with honor there before the Gate of the Hornburg, but my legs are not moving. I stand like a block of stone and watch the fight, unable to do anything. Legolas is standing next to me, but he with his bow is a little more useful than I am.

Time passes slowly, infinitely slowly. The certainty of death does not let go of me, it lies heavy upon me like a leaden coat, just like I was waiting only for this. When will this night finally come to an end?

 

“The Orcs are behind the wall!” I hear people scream. Thunderstruck I turn around and watch some tired soldiers fight against the Orcs – far away, but on this side of the wall. Those beasts must have crept through the narrow drain.

“ _Anglachel! Acharo thêl nín!_ ” _[Anglachel! Avenge my sister!]_   With a cry I leap down from the wall and run towards the enemy.

As soon as the first Uruk has my blade stuck into his belly I remember what I am fighting for: revenge. Merciless I attack them and it does not take long until they are all beheaded, slashed, pierced through with my sword or hewn into pieces. The pale fire of Anglachel’s blade is hardly to be seen any more for the lots of black blood running down the sword.

I wipe the blood from my face. All enemies within reach of my sword are defeated. Pity that I neither have a bow nor can shoot very well. Murderously I watch my surroundings, but no Orc can be seen.

But I spot Aragorn and Éomer on top of the wall. With few big steps I am up the stairs and standing next to them. They’re leaning on their swords tiredly and look at me in bewilderment when I suddenly show up in their middle. But well, probably I look quite horrible. My face, my hands and my sword are covered in blood, my clothes are dirty and torn and my eyes are burning with a wild fire that will probably only die out when all the Uruks in this valley are dead.

“Lúthien, you look frightful!” Aragorn is apparently happy to see me alive and unhurt, and his words confirm what I thought of my looks. “But this is very attractive, too,” Éomer murmurs quietly. I look at him with hatred in my eyes. If we were not at war he now had to fear for his head.

“But still, day will bring hope to Men,” Aragorn pick up the threads of their former talk. “Don’t you say that no enemy ever set foot inside the Hornburg while Men defended it?” “This is what is said,” Éomer confirms. And Aragorn replies: “So let us defend the fortress, and hope.”

But his last words are torn into pieces by a deafening bang which makes the air itself shake. A bright flash lights up, then smoke rises skywards in dense clouds. A rush of water is pouring down on the onrushing Orcs, now that the creek is no longer dammed. A giant hole gapes in the wall. Through this hole the Uruks are coming.

“Devilry of Saruman!” Aragorn cries. “They have lit the fire of Orthanc beyond our feet. Elendil, Elendil!” Andúril drawn he leaps into the breach and this time I follow him: “ _Anglachel!_ _Anglachel an i·achared!_ ” _[Anglachel for revenge!]_  

While my cry still hangs in the air the Orcs try to take the wall with ladders. The situation is not the best, neither the strategic one nor my own. Aragorn and I stand back to back in the breach and repulse the Orcs who try to break through our lines here. But soon we can do nothing than retreat.

We fight till we reach the foot of some narrow stairs leading to a small gate and into the Hornburg. At once I feel less useless; that way I can give some other warriors of Rohan the possibility to reach the fortress by keeping their backs free.

After some time in which my whole attention was concentrated on my sword and my opponents I notice Legolas kneeling on the uppermost stair. His bow is drawn and an arrow is on his string. “All who could have made their way inside! Aragorn, Lúthien, get out of there!” he calls at us. Aragorn turns around and runs up the stairs, I follow him. 

Yet when I have almost reached the top I make the mistake of turning around. The Orcs seem to have broken through our defenses by their sheer host. ‘This all is so futile!’ shoots through my mind.

And in the very same moment I feel a sharp pain in my left arm. “Lúthien!” I hear Legolas’ cry, then I feel Aragorn grabbing my right hand and pulling me up the stairs. The Uruks are drawing near, the first ones are already reaching for us. But I do not care about anything now; I feel nothing than the pain and do not even mention that consciousness flees me.

 

* * *

 

 

When I regain consciousness I lie on the floor of a small room. Apparently we have indeed managed to reach the fortress. Aragorn and Legolas are leaning over me and look pretty worried.

The next thing I mention is the pain in my arm that has lessened, and that my shoulder is enwrapped in a thick bandage. I try to sit up.

“What has happened?” I ask with confusion. “You were hit by an arrow,” Aragorn tells me. Wow, irony of fate! When I am standing right in the volley without cover I remain without a scratch, but when I am running through semi-darkness up the stairs I get hit. “But don’t worry," he continues, "The wound is deep but not dangerous. I pulled out the arrow and cleansed the wound. You are lucky that it was not poisoned. In some day you will probably not even feel it anymore.”

I nod. Then I get to my feet and look around. Behind Aragorn my coat of chain mail is lying on the floor. It is slightly bloody, but this does not matter. I pick it up and pull it on. Then I am about to look for my sword, but Legolas holds me back.

“What is this going to be? Lúthien, you are wounded!” “Not that much,” I manage to say. “I still can wield my sword with my right hand.” The two look at each other, shaking their heads and Aragorn just says: “If you want to kill yourself, every success!”

Stubbornly I look at him. “Well give me my sword then!” Aragorn rises without a word and leaves the room. For a moment I do indeed hope that he might get me my sword, but when he has not come back after several minutes I know that he is just doing everything besides searching for Anglachel. Everything I have to do myself!

I make for the door. Legolas tries to stop me, but I don’t even listen to him. I simply ignore him and leave the chamber. At first I have some difficulties finding my way, but when I finally regained my bearings it doesn’t take me long to find my way out. As soon as I will find Aragorn I also will get to know where he has hidden Anglachel, that’s for certain. So first I have a look round.

There are many men running around in the forecourt, but Aragorn is not amongst them, nor anyone else I know.

Suddenly I can hear the Orcs crying and yelling from the gate.

O merciful Valar, I have found him! And he’s telling me about killing myself! There upon the gate Aragorn is standing and talking to the Uruks. I am about to run over to him and give him a piece of my mind, when I spot King Théoden riding into the forecourt. And behind him I can see my horse – with my sword hanging on the saddle!

I bet Aragorn did this deliberately! One day I am going to kill him for this, but right now I am just happy to have my sword back and continue fighting. Our plan is quickly explained to me by some Rohan soldiers: As soon as the Orcs will break through the gate we will ride out and so, if we should not defeat them, at least find an end worth of remembering. An end worth of a song, even if nobody will be left to sing about it. A plan to my liking.

I leap into the saddle. I hardly feel the arrow wound on my arm anymore. From down here I watch Aragorn. High and kingly he looks, standing upon the half-shattered gate; and still I am worried that they might simply shoot him down if he remains up there much longer. And just as he had read my thoughts he now jumps down, a volley following him, and runs to the horses as fast as he can.

“What was that supposed to be?!” I ask him in outrage even before he has quite reached his horse. “I thought if you had the will and the power to find your way out to us you will also be able to ride with us,” he grins at me daringly, but before I can answer something to this the gateway is torn apart by another explosion.

The Orcs don’t pay any attention to the few barriers our men have built up behind the gate; they simply run over them. But suddenly they hesitate for a reason I cannot understand.

“Well, I have warned them,” Aragorn murmurs next to me as he draws Andúril. In the next moment a strange sound rings out, something I have never heard before. It sounds like a giant horn echoing in the very mountains around the whole valley. The earth shakes and the Uruks drop to the ground in shock. The sounds are thrown to and fro by the steep walls of the mountains around, but they do not die away. It is like a giant army was waiting in the mountains around only to attack our enemies.

“Helm! Helm!” the riders around us and the soldiers on the walls now cry out. “Helm has woken and rides to war! Helm for King Théoden!” Said king now draws his sword, too. “Forth, Eorlingas!” With this battle cry he rides down to the broken gate. 

_"Anglachel an i·achared!“_  I stay close behind Aragorn. The Orcs in front of us fall back, we drive them like wilted leaves are driven by a storm.

Blinded with rage I pound on my enemies. They have killed my family, they have killed my sister, they had almost killed me. Anglachel is dancing in my hand, a cold blue shining flame. Before my inner eye I can see Míriel’s dying face again and I can hear her whisper: “Bring peace for Men. I know you can do this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lúthien speaks Sindarin. The translations are my own, but I do not claim to be an expert in Elvish, so there could very well be some mistakes in it...


	20. A Bond through the Darkness

We actually did win. I myself have not believed in this anymore, but the sortie apparently has saved our asses. Gandalf, too, showed up with as many men as he could find in the surroundings of the Fords of the Isen.

The most amazing thing yet is the forest that reaches from Helm’s Dike to the entrance of the valley since this morning. At first I thought it was some additional work by Gandalf, but he has told us the truth about it: The trees are Huórns from the depths of Fangorn and they came here to take revenge on the Orcs. So none of the foul beasts who entered this wood ever came out alive and all the other ones were slain by our men.

Now, I am exhausted, but my shoulder doesn’t hurt anymore and my sister is avenged. A deep contentedness fills my very soul when I ride back to the fortress with Aragorn next to me. We will sleep for some hours now and later leave Helm’s Deep and make for Isengard. Gandalf wants to have a word with Saruman, Théoden and Aragorn intend to accompany him so I will join them, too.

My friend leads me into a little room with a window somewhere far up in a tower of the Hornburg.

“How is your shoulder?” he asks me in concern. “No idea. It does not hurt, I am not affected by the injury in any case,” I tell him carefully.

He takes off my chain mail and looks at the bandage. “It didn’t bleed,” he says in surprise, then he takes the cloth off. I look closely at my arm, but there is nothing. No wound, only a little scar looking like I had been wounded there years ago.

“How is this possible?” I ask in astonishment. But Aragorn has no clue either. “Perhaps it is because of your descent,” is his only guess. Sounds logically to me, though. “Could indeed be the reason,” I answer.

Then he takes his leave and I lay down onto the bed. As soon as my head touches the pillow I am sound asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

I am standing on the edge of a chasm. In front of me, but very far away, I can see a dim light glowing, but I cannot reach it. The abyss before my feet is so deep that I can’t even guess how far away the bottom must be. And on top of that there are some scary shadows crawling around down there. They are even blacker than the darkness around them.

As if I had turned to stone I stand there and with horror I look down into the dark before my feet. I cannot tell how much time has passed. It could have been mere seconds as well as years. Suddenly I am pushed from behind, I fall forward and down into the darkness.

The crawling shadows now have disappeared. I fall and fall until I hit dark and ice-cold water. Dazed I sink onto the ground and with surprise I mention that I am able to breath. When I feel sand and stone beneath my feet I suddenly am able to move again, too. The water pressure is heavy as lead on my body, I cannot get up. So I choose to walk in some random direction.

Everything is dark and very cold down here, but after a while I can see a tiny spot of light that approaches fast and takes shape. It is a human, yet I recognize her only when she is already standing right in front of me: Míriel.

“Míriel! I have found you!” Cheering I run towards her and want to hug her, but she doesn’t move. I cannot get closer to her than half a meter. She stares at me fixedly. “Lúthien, what are you doing here? You are not dead.” “No, I am not. But what’s the matter? I don’t want to live anymore. I have nobody left. Could I not stay here?”

Still she is staring at me, an almost disappointed look in her eyes. “You are not dead. Don’t you know that one can only come here once? You cannot stay. And when you die you will not be able to come here again. We will never meet again.” “What? No, this cannot be… this must not be! Did you not tell me about the other side of the Sundering Seas? This looks more like the sea itself.”

But Míriel doesn’t answer. She is now looking past me into the distance, then she raises her hand as if to touch my face. “Farewell, Lúthien. Eternity is long, but perhaps we can overcome it… on our own. But the Valar have granted me to answer you one question. One answer I may give you, whatever you ask, as far as the Dead are allowed to speak about it.”

I hesitate. It’s an easy guess what she might not be allowed to tell me. But then I get an idea.

“What is my fate?” Míriel looks at me with pain-filled eyes. “Do you really want to know this?” I resolutely nod. Then she touches my forehead and I lose consciousness.

I wake up in a small, dark and locked chamber. My sword is in my hands and dread has taken hold of me.

Suddenly I hear a noise behind me. I turn around and look at an Uruk. He attacks me, but I have no trouble killing him. His blood flows onto the stone floor, a lot of blood. Then his body vanishes into air, but the blood remains.

The next Orc appears in front of me and again I slay him easily. Again there is a lot of blood and again his body simply vanishes.

This goes on for a while, every Orc I kill is replaced by another one. It takes me some time to find the problem: only when I am already wading in blood up to my hips I mention that it does not flow away.

And then it comes to my mind that I am going to die here, one way or the other. If I do not kill the Uruks they will kill me. But if I kill them I will sooner or later drown in a lake of black blood.

With a desperate cry I attack my next opponent. Now I try to last as long as possible, but in the end I have to kill them.

When the blood already has reached my neck I manage to look up. The room is high, but very far over my head, almost outside my field of view, I spot a small window. Bright clear light is seeping through there. Impotent rage overcomes me. I will never be able to reach this window, this exit.

There is no sense in fighting anymore. My knees buckle and I sink into the black depth. With tears in my eyes I look up to the window one last time, see the light, warm and friendly, then the blood closes above me and it is night.

 

I wake up with a cry. Filled with horror I hide my face in my hands. “O, Míriel! How can you be so cruel?” I whisper in distress. There is this desperate knowing that I will never get out of this sea of grief and despair. And I do not want to have to bear the burden of such a life.

The window on the opposite side of the room comes to my view. My chamber should be 30 meters above the ground if I remember this rightly. I take a deep breath, then I rise. Slowly I climb onto the window-sill and look down.

The abyss before my feet is almost as deep as my grief and despair are. Dizziness wells up in me for a moment, then I close my eyes. But when I am just about to jump I hear a cry behind me: “Lúthien, no!”

In shock I turn around and see Aragorn running towards me. Before I can react in any way he has already gained hold of my waist and drags me away from the window. I shout at him, kick and hit him, but he does not let go.

“What are you doing?!” I cry. “Saving your very life, my friend.” “Let go! Let go at once!” “Yeah, sure you would like that! That you can jump out of the window right behind my back, eh?” Now he sits down on my bed, but still does not release me.

“Lúthien.” Deeply he looks into my eyes and waits till I have calmed a little bit. “Lúthien, I had hoped to tell you in a… different situation, not now and not here. Yet you should know it, you have the right to know. Lúthien Nienor, I love you. I love you and I could not bear it to lose you.”

As if turned to stone I look into his stormy grey eyes. Both of us are sitting on my bed, and he confesses that he loves me?

In this very moment all the desperation of the last days and weeks breaks forth. I clutch tight to him like a drowning man and I cry as I never have cried before. Aragorn holds me tight and calmingly caresses my back. His other hand is idly playing with my thick, dark hair. And then, he carefully kisses my neck.

A soft tingle runs down my spine, strangely calming. I stop sobbing and he tenderly caresses my cheek. I look into his eyes. These eyes have fascinated me from the very first moment I saw him. They are so beautiful, can be so wild and desperate, so happy or tender at the same time.

He carefully seals my lips with his ones and I shudder with sudden arousal. His kiss is timid, but also demanding. I lose myself to passion and let me be born away in his arms. My last clear thoughts are of Míriel. Perhaps she was right indeed and I should deserve a king. But then I feel his hand caressing the bare skin on my waist and intoxicated by his kiss I close my eyes…

 

When I wake up the next morning we lie with our arms tightly around one another. Aragorn is still sleeping but holds me tight to his chest. I can feel his heart beat, strong and steady.

Whatever has happened in the last couple of hours: Now I know that I love this man, no matter what. Carefully, for not to wake him up, I turn around to see his face. But of course I wake him up. When he looks at me he almost has to laugh and I also notice now that he is completely naked. And looking down at myself I mention that I am wearing his shirt. In the name of all Valar, what has happened here?

But before I am able to say anything he kisses me again and I sink back into his arms. Only when we hear steps approaching on the floor outside my room I break the kiss and open my eyes again. He smiles at me affectionately. In this moment the door opens.

I turn around and see – Éomer, who is looking at us at least as thunderstruck as I look at him. “So… so… Aragorn… you and… Lúthien?” he finally manages to stammer. I cannot see Aragorn’s face but I feel him nodding. Éomer looks to the ground in embarrassment and apologizes for this interruption at least five times. Then he walks out of the room like a beaten dog.

I turn back to Aragorn. “Last night... Why did you come?” I whisper. Tenderly he kisses my forehead. “I heard you scream. It sounded like someone was trying to kill you or something like that. So I thought, better look what’s happening here.” I press my face against his chest. “Thank you,” I eventually whisper.

He strokes my hair. “I have to thank you. Only five months ago I would never have thought it possible to feel such a strong love for anybody again. I was not standing much further away from the window-sill than you were before. And it is because of you that I am still here. So it is just to give it back to you now, is it not?”

Instead of an answer I kiss him again. “Please, never leave me again!” I beg him. He caresses my back softly. “Come, get up. We have to hurry if we want to join the company riding to Isengard.” I sit up and only now notice that Anglachel is not hanging on my belt as it does always. Or better, that I am not even wearing a belt anymore.

Horrified I look around the room. Then with relief I see Anglachel as well as Andúril lying right in front of the bed. I get up and pull my chain mail over my head. Aragorn behind me clears his throat. “Ehhr, Lúthien… shouldn’t we maybe… would I get back my shirt, please? Or would you like any more unpleasant questions?” he adds with a smile.

Confused I look at him, then I remember: I am still wearing his shirt. So I pull off my armor again and handle the shirt over to him. He watches me for some moments, then I finally get my own shirt back. “You are the most beautiful woman I have ever seen,” he tells me with a grin. “Oh yes? How many women have you ever seen, in fact?” I tease him.

When my head finally comes up out of my chain mail he is standing in front of me and pulls me closer to him again. “Well, actually... Arwen, so this is saying a lot.” I can hear his grin getting ever wider. “And on top of that you can fight better than most men do. Never before I have seen someone handling their sword as well as you do.”

I blush. “I wouldn’t be so sure of that…” I say, but he quickly seals my lips with a passionate kiss again. It takes us some more minutes to make our way down where the horses are already prepared for us. Gandalf wants to reach Isengard as soon as possible and the sun will be gone in less than four hours.


	21. The Road to Isengard

Even after sundown we ride on for some miles. When it is midnight already we rest on the banks of the Isen. Well, the Isen in fact has dried up, why on earth not even Gandalf can tell (Théoden suspects some new devilry of Saruman), but we make camp next to the empty river bed.

The ride was eventless, even the way through this ominous forest was actually safer than I had expected. We only saw Ents and Legolas was almost about to ride after them. The Elf, I think, would prefer to be still beyond these trees and almost ran off, but luckily Gandalf could keep him from this.

Éomer stays with his soldiers and ignores Aragorn and me; he even avoids looking at us. I hope he will get a grip on himself or we will eventually lose another ally in this war only because Éomer being lovesick.

Tiredly I sit at the fire, yet I try to fight off sleep. I fear to dream of Míriel again. Aragorn is standing aside with Gandalf and Théoden, Éomer is somewhere at the other end of the camp extra far away from us. I take my amulet again. The stone is not very heavy nor extremely light. Again I concentrate on the writing on the backside.

The language is the slang of my tribe, the old Sindarin the Atharim speak. At least I have no problem with this, but the fëanorian runes are a bit unusual for me. Slowly I read: ‘ _This amulet is possession of Idril Ancalimë, daughter of Elendil and Princess of the Atharim. Whoever wears this by right shall be acknowledged as their leader by the people of the Atharim._ ’

In shock I almost suffocate of the deep breath I try to take. Idril Ancalimë? Princess?! Didn’t Aragorn mention Idril Ancalimë as Isildur and Anarion’s sister? My fingers tremble. Did the rangers accept me because of this? Did they know that the blood of Númenor is running also in my veins? I look at the other side again. The seven stars are for Elendil of course. I could have thought of this before.

But while I am still cursing my foolishness silently someone puts their hands before my eyes and almost knocks me over. I have the fright of my life but Aragorn only laughs, sits next to me and kisses my forehead gently.

“Sorry, are you angry with me?” he carefully asks when he notices the strange look on my face. “Aragorn, what do you know about Idril Ancalimë?” The urgency in my voice surprises him. “Not much more than I’ve already told you. She was the daughter of Elendil and Lauriël. Lauriël was the Princess of the Atharim and her daughter Idril became the leader of her people after her. She left Númenor long before her brothers and parents did so and lived with her people in the area of Rhudaur.

"She married and even had children but she did not want the power her brothers had. After Anarion’s death Isildur asked her to take over the kingship of Gondor, but she refused. After that her trace is lost even in the chronicles and legends of the Dúnedain. But it was told that the people of the Atharim was linked with the fate of the exiled Númenóreans of Gondor and Arnor, even if both people don’t know much or even nothing of each other anymore.”

For some moments he watches the fire silently, lost in his own thoughts. “Why do you want to know this?” Without a word I give him the amulet. It takes him some moments to read the tiny Tengwar, but then he looks at me in astonishment. “You told me that it was always passed from mother to daughter…” he then says. I nod. Both of us know what this means. I am a descendant of Idril Ancalimë and by this of Elendil and the Kings of Númenor.

 

I fall asleep in Aragorn’s embrace but am awake again before dawn. A thick fog seems to be closing around us and the stars darken. I close my eyes and for a moment I have the feeling that my nightmare has come true. Then I feel Aragorn’s arms around my shoulders, his hands in my hair and he whispers calmingly: “Everything will be all right, Lúthien. You need not be frightened, I am with you. It will pass.”

I hear voices moaning, whispering, murmuring, then the fog is gone. Nobody dares to move. Then another noise breaks through the silence: the rushing of water. The Isen has returned to his old bed.

Yet I am so exhausted that I manage to fall asleep again despite of my fear. Only shortly after dawn I wake up. Aragorn is shaking me carefully. “Lúthien, we are about to leave. If all goes well we will reach Isengard this noon already.”

I rise and walk over to my horse that is already saddled. Did Aragorn do this, too? I give him a thankful kiss, then I mount and we ride on, northwards, deeper into the Nan Curunír. The fog here is dense, but at least it is natural fog. Through it I cannot see much of the countryside, yet what I catch is enough: half-rotten tree-trunks are peek through the wilted yellowish grass, in between are tendrils of bramble growing. Well, of course I have no idea whether the area has always looked like this, but still it makes me sad somehow.

After some miles the road changes, it is now paved with stones. The sound of the horses’ hooves on the stone sounds even creepier. In the puddles on the street the water looks dirty and grey.  Unconsciously I reach for my sword. The fog seems to send out a silent warning towards us.

After a while spot a dark object in front of us. Nervously I fasten the grip around my sword hilt, but when we draw closer I can see what it is: a pillar of dark stone with a hand made of white stone on the top. The extended forefinger points towards Isengard. As we ride past the pillar I notice that the white of the hand is stained. Something like dried blood sticks to it and the fingernails are red. A shudder runs down my spine; this fog is really scary.

But soon the humidity vanishes, my view reaches further and the sun is not only to guess, but to see and to feel. Noon has already passed when we finally reach the southern gate of Isengard. The gate, to be precise, only consists of nothing more than rocks and two doors on the ground. Someone has done quite a lot of work here.

Through the destroyed gate I can see Isengard. I don’t know how this city or whatever it is has looked before, but now it is nothing more than a bubbling and very dirty lake with a high black tower in the middle of it. This has to be the Orthanc. It looks like a thorn stinging out of the water. I have a careful look round.

We are on our guard. Next to the entrance is a great heap of stones and on this heap are sitting two little creatures clad in grey. Already I am about to take cover from arrows or similar stuff, but then I notice that these two guys watch our arrival quite relaxed. They are eating and drinking, and if I am not quite mistaken they are even smoking. This cannot –

“Welcome, my lords, to Isengard!” One of them comes to his feet and waves at us. “We are the guards here. I am Meriadoc, son of Saradoc, and this here next to me is Peregrin, son of Paladin. Saruman is here, but at the moment he has locked himself in this tower together with Wormtounge. Otherwise he would surely be here to welcome such important guests.”

“Oh, I am sure he would,” Gandalf laughs. “Did Saruman give you this job, to guide his damaged door and watch the arrival of possible guests?” “No, dear sir, this matter must have failed to notice,” Merry replies politely. “He is very occupied at the moment. He gave us the order to welcome the Lords of Rohan with fitting words. I did my very best.”

Gimli, sitting behind Legolas, now starts to shout at them: “And what about your companions? What about Legolas and myself? You rascals, you wool-headed runaways! A merry hunt you led us! Two hundred miles through the plains and the forest, through battle and death, only to save you!” His exaggerated words make me laugh, but well, somehow the dwarf is right, too. I listen to him and Legolas for a while. The two start discussing with the hobbits whether their food and especially pipe weed are well-earned or not.

After some time, Théoden intervenes: “So those are your missing companions, Gandalf? These times are full of wonders. I have already seen many since I left Edoras and now there is another people from the old tales right before my eyes. Aren’t these Halflings that some of us call Holbytlan?” “Hobbits, if you wouldn’t mind,” Pippin says. “Hobbits?” The king looks at him in amazement. “You speak strangely, but the name does not seem unfitting. Hobbits! No tale I have heard speaks all true.”

The Hobbits bow to him and Pippin adds: “I thank you, my lord, or at least I hope to understand you right this way. And here we have another wonder! I have come to many lands since I left my home and yet I have not met a people that knew any tales about Hobbits.” “Well, my people came from the North a long time ago,” Théoden explains.

The talk goes on and on until Gandalf interrupts Merry (who is just telling the king about the discovery of the pipe weed): “You do not know the danger you are in, Théoden King. Those Hobbits can sit on the brink of destruction and have a nice meal or merrily talk about the small deeds of their fathers, grandfathers and great-grandfathers if you should encourage them to do so. This story would be more fitting another time. Merry, where is Treebeard?”

The King, his men and Gandalf ride northwards around the wall to find Treebeard. Aragorn, Legolas, Gimli and I stay with the Hobbits. We let our horses walk around freely and sit down next to the Hobbits.

The boys at first insist on something to eat. Still I am not really hungry, just as I have been ever since Míriel’s death, but somehow they manage to persuade me to eat a bit. Listless I chew on a piece of bread. After a while Merry tells me that they have honey also. This makes eating a little bit easier for me, but still Aragorn gives me a sorrowful look when I am full after having eaten only two small slices.

Soon I try my best to talk about other topics than our lunch and manage it quite well. The Hobbits willingly tell us about their capture and what else has happened to them. Of course they also want to know about us and what we did after leaving Parth Galen. They already knew about Míriel and Boromir’s death and I am happy that I don’t have to hear this story again. My heart aches enough without mentioning it, after all.

When we finally have told them about the battle and our ride to Isengard the boys decide to smoke and enjoy the sunny weather. Legolas and I are the only ones without a pipe, but this really is no problem.

It is splendid to have the Hobbits with us again. I smile at them, they are frigging about with Aragorn and Gimli. I almost feel like I had come home to my family. Except for the fact that I have neither a home nor a family anymore. The fellowship was probably the best thing that could have happened to me, after all. And after we have won the first battle I could almost believe that we might have a chance to defeat Sauron in the end.

 

Later, after we have talked to Saruman, we make our way back to Helm’s Deep. The wizard was officially banned from the White Council by Gandalf and his staff was taken, too. Now the Ents should guard him in Orthanc until he has made amends, meaning until he sees what he has done and tries to make up for it. In the end Gandalf as well as Saruman were almost killed by something big and heavy that Gríma has thrown out of the window. Gandalf thought this round, black stone or whatever it was to be quite useful and took it with him.

When we have finally left Isengard the sun is setting. As we ride past the pillar again it is still standing though, however the white hand meanwhile lies broken on the ground. The Ents can be cruel enemies, at least so much I have learnt today.

 

We spend the night in a valley close to the end of the Nan Curunír. When we have set up our camp I stay with my horse for a while. It has become something like a friend to me, too. When I return to the fire there are sitting Aragorn and – surprise – Éomer. The two of them seem to talk things over. I remain in the shadow, unseen, and eavesdrop (I know, this is bad, but actually I am curious. And I am sure you would have done the same, wouldn’t you?)

“Well, I am really sorry for you that it had hurt you so much,” I hear Aragorn saying to Éomer. “Oh, it doesn’t matter,” he replies. “It was Lúthien’s decision, after all, and she will be much happier with you than she would have ever been with me. I was quite jealous, that’s right, but I am happy for you, too. She’s a great woman. But there is a darkness inside her… a grief that I cannot really understand.”

Now I feel it appropriate to step into the light. “Sorry, did I disturb you?” I ask them innocently. “No, no, not at all.” Aragorn moves over to make room for me to sit down. Éomer gets to his feet. “I should better leave now. Good night, you two.”

 

When he is gone Aragorn pulls me into his embrace. “Are you all right, Lúthien?” he asks me. Well, apart from the fact that my sister was killed by Orcs two weeks ago… “Relatively,” I tell him. He nods. Apparently he didn’t expect anything different.

Tiredly I lean into him. He gently kisses my hair. “Try to get some sleep. Do not fear, I am with you,” he whispers. I close my eyes, but I am frightened to have more nightmares.

After some time I stop trying. “I cannot sleep,” I sigh. Aragorn also opens his eyes and asks me worriedly: “What has happened? Even during our hunt you were able to sleep better.” Tears well up in my eyes while I’m telling him about my dream and Míriel and our meeting as well as the part about my fate.

“You do not know how it ends,” he says when I have finished. “You do not know how it ends,” he says when I have finished. “What!? I will die, isn’t it obvious?” “But in your dream you did not die. Who knows, perhaps… you would have reached the window, somehow. I know such dreams.”

He suddenly falls silent. I don’t want to offend him, but this is of some interest to me, too. “So… you did not die either?” I ask him carefully. But he just shakes his head and remains deep in his own thoughts.

With a sigh I roll onto my back. “I feel strangely different. I am dead tired, but there is something in my head that doesn’t let me sleep.” I cross my arms behind my head and stare into the nightly black sky.

“And I am hungry,” I mention to my own surprise. “You’re hungry?” Aragorn gets up at once and shortly after returns with some bread. I have a bad conscience about this and tell him so, but he just tells me: “Well, at least you eat something, and voluntarily too.” And this even makes me smile.

 

A cry rings through the camp. I start, my hand reaches for my sword. Aragorn turns around in shock, then he jumps to his feet and runs in the direction where the cry did come from. I drop everything and run after him, my hand is still clutching the sword hilt.

When we arrive at the scene Gandalf has already taken care of Pippin. The stupid Hobbit must have stolen that strange Orthanc stone from the wizard. I hope he has not done too much damage. Gandalf is kneeling next to the Hobbit on the ground and questions him. The excited Halfling tells him everything about his talk with - Sauron? In the name of the almighty Valar, he has talked to _Sauron himself_?! The world’s gone crazy.

Yet Gandalf assures us that he hasn’t given any value information to the enemy. That takes a load in the size of the _Hithaeglir_ off my mind. Gandalf brings Pippin back to his bed. But when he returns to us his face is dark and his words do not sound that encouraging: “Danger comes at night when you expect it least. We escaped just barely. But I think everything will be okay. The memory or at least the horror will pass soon, perhaps too soon.

"Will you, Aragorn, take the stone of Orthanc and take care of it? It is a dangerous tool.” I look at Aragorn. He’s standing upright and self-confident and answers Gandalf determinedly: “Dangerous, yes, but not for everyone. There is one who has the right to claim it. This must be the _Palantír_ of Orthanc from the treasure of Elendil that was brought here by the Kings of Gondor. My hour draws near. I will take it.” “Take it, my Lord. As deposit for many things that shall be given back to you.” Gandalf handles the stone over to him with a small bow.

I watch Aragorn with surprise and awe. King Aragorn II.  of Gondor… Elessar... again I must think of Míriel’s words: “If you should not deserve a king, Lúthien, I cannot think of anyone else!” A warm, comfortable feeling courses through my whole body when he looks at me and smiles.

But right in this moment when I had almost dared to tell him of my feelings for him when something other draws near. Something extremely unpleasant. A loud, piercing cry can be heard from somewhere above the clouds, then I hear Gandalf as in answer: “The messenger of Mordor! The storm is coming. Nazgûl! Ride! Ride! Do not wait until dawn, ride!” He calls for Shadowfax and is gone as well as Aragorn who is running after him.

Thunderstruck, I stay where I am. The whole camp now creaks into action. After a while I run back to our place and begin to pack my things in the saddle bags. It isn’t much, but I better should pack Aragorn’s stuff, too.

When I walk over to the horses I see him helping Merry to climb onto the back of his horse. Right, we’ll ride three together. Better, five together, Legolas and Gimli are here, too. Yawning I fasten my bag on the saddle and mount. Now, when I was able to sleep, we have to ride on, of course. I am somehow anxious to see where else my path will lead me to.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if Elendil's wife was indeed named Lauriël. I could not find anything about his wife, and I simply liked the name, so it is Lauriël now.  
> The dialogues between the Hobbits and their companions are partly borrowed from the book ("The Two Towers")


	22. New Plans

As soon as we have left behind the fords of Isen, King Théoden gets news from a scout that a group of riders is coming after us and approaching. All right, approaching quickly and apparently they will have reached us soon. The King gives word to hold and we wait.

Aragorn and I dismount and stand next to Théoden. I have a bad feeling about this and my fingers play with my sword. I am ready to fight.

The moon has disappeared behind the clouds but when he now comes out again I can very well see the grey wide plain. Not only the plain is gleaming in the moon light, also are the spear tips of the riders. I can hardly guess their number, but they must be about as many as we are. In case of a fight I would not absolutely bet on our victory.

They are very close now, but one of the first is holding up his bare hand as a sing of peace. Now I hear Éomer’s voice: “Hold! Who is riding in Rohan?” And out of the darkness someone replies: “Rohan? Did you say Rohan? This we hear gladly for we searched for this land.”

The voice sounds somehow familiar to me.

“You have found it. When you crossed the ford over there you entered it. But this is the realm of King Théoden. Who are you? And what is your business here?” Éomer tells them. “Halbarad Dúnadan is my name, a Ranger of the North. We are looking for Aragorn, son of Arathorn and we heard he was in Rohan.”

Halbarad! Of course! While I spent my years with the Rangers he was my commandant.

“You have found him also!” Aragorn cries and runs towards the Rangers. He and Halbarad greet each other warmly, then Aragorn wants to introduce me. “Halbarad, this is Lúthien.” I only nod at him shortly and he tells him: “We have met one another, although she was called Nienor then.” “He was my commandant,” I add grinning. “Right, Lúthien, you are a Ranger, too.” Aragorn smiles at me. “Yes, Nienor was one of my best soldiers.” “Lúthien,” I interrupt him. “Please, my name is Lúthien.” My former commandant nods in acceptance, then Aragorn turns to the King and gives the all-clear. Soon we ride on.

 

Halbarad has thirty Rangers with him and Elladan and Elrohir, Elrond’s twin sons, accompany him, too. I am glad for this support. Every man standing on our side is needed.

Interested I listen to the talk between Aragorn, the twins and Halbarad. They discuss tactics and politics, but few things were unknown to me before, except some news they brought from the north. Elrohir gives Aragorn a message from Elrond (he should think of the Paths of the Dead) and Halbarad has a present from Arwen for him. Well, _I_ had thought that she had left him...

Aragorn’s face hardens at the mention of her name. “What is it, Halbarad?” he asks sternly. “Something she had already prepared a long time ago. It belonged to you, she said, and she was glad if you accepted it,” the Ranger replies. “Now I know what it is,” Aragorn sighs. “Well, keep it for a while please.”

I sigh. If this is so heart-breaking for her, why did she ever leave him? But well, it was her decision. And after all this none of my business.

I am riding with Merry in front of me, who has already fallen asleep. I am tired, too and I hope we will reach Helm’s Deep as soon as possible. Yet when we pass the Dike reach the Hornburg it is almost dawn.

 

* * *

 

 

I am sound asleep until at noon Gimli and Legolas start roaming around our chamber, and not quietly at all. Apparently they are looking for diverse parts of their armor and weapons.

“Lúthien, you haven’t seen one of my axes, have you?”

Cursing I sit up. “Can’t you look for it somewhere else? And, hell, _where_ exactly should I have seen it? I was _sleeping_ , damn!” “Might have been, you never know. Legolas, it ain’t here, too!”

Half-asleep I watch them for a while. “Are you doing this deliberately?” I eventually ask them. “Doing what?” Legolas looks at me so innocently that I almost start to laugh.

Then I finally decide to get up. I put on my chain mail, fasten my sword on the belt and take my leave of those two, and together with Merry I go to search for something to eat.

 

After we had some food Legolas, Gimli and I decide to show Merry around the Deep and the two boys tell him about their heroic deeds. He looks pretty impressed. Only when Legolas mentions my wound he is confused: “But, Lúthien, you look quite well for being pierced by an arrow.” Doubting he looks at me.

I blush. How shall I best explain this to him? But Gimli takes over: “Lúthien is the princess of the Atharim, she has extraordinary healing abilities.”

“ _Atharim_? I always thought you were human?” Now Merry looks even more confused. “Well, Aragorn is human, too, right?” I try it. “And still he is one of the Dúnedain.” This he does understand.

“So, you can heal people?” I just shrug my shoulders. I am not _that_ good at it after all. But luckily Gimli interrupts us and wants to go back to the castle for a late second lunch.

 

The first thing I mention when we enter the dining hall is that Aragorn is missing. So I sit next to Legolas and Gimli.

The three of us have a nice talk about the battle and Isengard. Legolas is still upset with Saruman who now is sitting in his tower all alone, yet Gimli and I mainly pity him for he surely will never get half as great food in there as we just do. Despite we had something before we went out into the deep I am still quite hungry. Strange, at first I couldn’t swallow a bite and now I feel really starved.

“Nice,” Gimli grins at me when I start to discuss the awesome taste of our meal. “I already started to think you were no good to talk about food. But it seems we can be real friends at least.” I laugh happily. It feels so good to have good friends.

Talking about good friends, Merry unfortunately is not sitting with us but next to King Théoden and talking to him. Éomer also sits on the other end of the table and is looking at me strangely for most of the time.  I am not so sure whether he still wants something of me or simply wants to apologize for wanting something of me. Or whether there is something totally different behind this.

Finally Théoden gives the order to leave for Edoras. This definitely is the cleverest thing to do in our situation, though the only thing we will do there is to wait for Gondor to call us for aid. Because according to the geographic and strategic situation they must be the ones to get attacked first. And anyway Aragorn wanted to go to Gondor. In about one hour we must be ready to march. So I have better search for our Ranger and tell him about this.

 

The Paths of the Dead! Why of all does it have to be the Paths of the Dead? I feel bad even at the thought of this way. I had more than enough to deal with death of late. My dream comes to my mind. The falling darkness… there won’t be that much light on the Pathos of the Dead, not to mention something like rescue from this blackness.

The Riders of Rohan have already left Helm’s Deep. They make for Dunharg on the mountain paths. Merry is with them, but Legolas and Gimli decided to join Aragorn and I… I don’t really know what to do.

I don’t want to be parted from Aragorn. He, the Elf and the Dwarf are the only people that I really can trust and count as my friends after Míriel’s death.

And yet I also refuse to enter the Paths of the Dead. This decision is very, _very_ hard.

“Lúthien, what about you?” Legolas asks me. “You look so unhappy.” Well, he wouldn’t be any happier if he were in my situation. What did he expect? A dance of joy?

Aragorn scrutinizes my face. “I don’t want to make you do something you cannot. I would be glad if you joined me on this dark road, but if you’d rather stay in Dunharg do so. I understand your reasons, and especially looking at your past…”

Dunharg? And riding to battle with Éomer? Well, I can think of nicer things. But are the dead one of them? Nervously I play with my necklace. And still… Aragorn survived to challenge Sauron when he looked into the Orthanc stone as he has just told us some minutes before. He will survive the Paths of the Dead too; if he does not, who else will? My fingers let go of my amulet and grasp the hilt of my sword.

“I will come with you,” I say resolutely. Now I have made my decision. I hope I won’t regret it.

 

* * *

 

 

Fast as the wind we ride across the wide plains of Rohan, not over the secret paths in the mountains. According to Aragorn, secrecy won’t help us anymore anyway now that he has revealed himself to Sauron. So we can – and must – make our whole hope of speed. The only way to stop Sauron’s forces attacking Gondor from the South is to reach Pelargir and the fleet lying there.

We reach Dunharg in the evening already. Éowyn greets us happily and joins us for dinner but I am tired and go to bed early.

Yet when I finally lie in my bed staring into the darkness I cannot sleep. I am afraid to dream of Míriel again and I miss the feeling of Aragorn next to me terribly.

And unless I am quite mistaken, Éowyn has a crush on Aragorn. Not only the way she talked to him, but also the fact that she insists on coming with us on the Paths of the Dead or him to stay here. Yet, it is quite obvious that he is not interested in her. I only hope for her to mention this herself and not too late or we might have another crisis here.

Now I hear steps approaching the room. Legolas and Gimli enter. I close my eyes and pretend to be asleep but the two boys are tired themselves and do not care about me. Soon they are sound asleep.

For some time I listen to their calm and steady breaths. My eyelids get heavy. When I am just about to fall asleep I hear voices in front of the door. This must be Aragorn because I hear Éowyn calling:

“Why do you want to take this way?” Yep, it is him: “Because I must. Only so I can hope to stop Sauron in the war to the South. I do not choose this way in seek for danger, Éowyn. If I was free to go where my heart led me I would already be far away to the North in Arnor.”

For a while there is no noise from outside the door and I almost hope that she has let go of him. Then she speaks again: “My lord, if you have to go this way please let me ride with you. I don’t want to hide in the mountains anymore and wish to face danger and battle.” What?! She must have gone mad or she certainly has no idea what she is talking about.

I can hear a sigh from Aragorn before he replies: “Your duty is here with you people.” “How often I have heard duty! But am I not of the house of Eorl, a shieldmaiden of Rohan? I have waited long enough. May I not spend my life to my own liking?” she gets upset. “Shall I always be chosen to guard the house when the men go to battle and win honor, that they find food and bedding when they return?” “Éowyn, a time will soon come when none shall return. Then there will be need of courage without honor because nobody will remember those last deeds done in the last defense of our homes. But the deeds will not be less valiant because they are unpraised,” he tries to calm her.

But now Éowyn seems to be in a rage: “Everything you say is, ‘You are a woman and your place is in the house.’ But what about Lúthien? She is a woman just like I am and still you allow her to accompany you.” “Lúthien did not get a king’s order to wait upon him for his return.” Again there is silence and again I hope that she might finally leave. But – again – I get disappointed:

“Then wait for my brother and uncle to return. With their permission would you take me with you?” Oh Valar, please not! If Éowyn joins us I will rather stay here! Better being ignored by her sulking brother than having to bear her infatuation with Aragorn. But my friend soon calms my worries: “It would take too long to wait for their return. Éowyn, we will ride with first light. Every minute I stay here brings us closer to defeat. They will not arrive here before tomorrow afternoon and I cannot wait so long. No, Éowyn, you cannot come with me.”

I give a sigh of relieve. The talk goes on for a little while longer, then I hear someone running away. Finally the door opens and Aragorn enters. “So, what did she want?” Legolas asks. At least I was not the only one to eavesdrop. “Did you not listen? She asked me to come with us or if I would not rather stay here.” “But you do ride?” “Of course I do. We have no other choice if we want to stop Sauron.”

“Anything else she wanted?” Aragorn sighs deeply. “I think she wants me to marry her,” he admits with a quiet chuckle. I almost stop breathing. Now it comes to it.

“Éowyn is beautiful, no doubt, but I could not love her. I have Lúthien. She mended my soul, and later needed me to sooth hers. We depend on each other and I love her with all my heart.” He carefully kisses my forehead. “Good,” Legolas answers. “She loves you too, you know? It would break her heart if you left her.”

“I know. And not only hers. Mine too.” 

As he lies down next to me and embraces me carefully I finally fall asleep.


	23. A Shadow in the Dark

When we set of the next morning the sun has not risen yet. Éowyn is now wearing armor and a sword and she asks Aragorn for a last time to take her with him, but again he denies it.

Then we ride off into the valley that is on the far end blocked by the Dwimorberg. The mountain overlooks the dell darkly and dangerously. I feel sick, but this surely is because of the scary atmosphere and my own nervousness. The grey sky, the grey mountains and the grey light over all depress me and the Dimholt, the dark forest we are passing right now does not at all help my mood.

There is no going back now, though I repeatedly ask myself what on earth will await me in the darkness beneath this mountain. I know the story about the Dead who swore an oath to Isildur and broke it. Who were cursed by Isildur afterwards to never find rest until their oath was fulfilled. And this exactly is our problem. Aragorn might be Isildur’s heir by right, but he is not the crowned King of Gondor yet.

Still this is the only hope that remains to us now. This is not only the shortest way to the mouth of Anduin, it is also the only way with a potential army to pick up on our way. Otherwise we are hopelessly outnumbered. Yet thinking about Aragorn’s destination I believe it is his fate to become happy in the end. And I also trust in our luck to defeat Sauron’s fleet.

I trust in his fate and still I haven’t got sorted out my own one. Whatever is coming up for me lies hidden in the darkness and it might well be that I will finally find it beneath this mountain.

 

The horses steadfastly refused to pass that scary gate; so we had to demount and lead them into the darkness. In here it is cool, the air smells stuffy and dusty though we can breathe easily. Aragorn leads the way lighting the path with a torch, I follow him on the heels.

The air around is filled with a creepy babble of voices; bodiless voices whispering in a foreign language murmuring words to me. I believe to have heard my mother, sister, and brothers’ names in it. My left hand clutches around my amulet, the right one grabs for the hilt of my sword. I feel panic welling up inside me. I only want to run back, get out of here, see the light again and to escape those scary voices around me.

However, I force me to go on. _Breathe deeply, Lúthien!_ It will not become any worse. At least I hope so.

After a while, we enter a cave, the narrow passage has ended and a wide, subterranean hall stretches out before us. I only can guess how far we still have to go. A little in front of us I can see something glistening lying on the dust-covered ground. When we come closer, I mention bones, human bones inside a rusty armor richly decorated. Again I feel this horrible dread. My hands close around both sword and amulet until my knuckles ache. Then I close my eyes, hoping to shut out the horror surrounding me.

It soon turns out not to be a good idea. Like a flash of lightening the last moments of my nightmare show up before my inner eye: Again I am looking at the far-up window and then sinking into the black depth, unconscious with ire and desperation. I can feel my knees buckle and drop to the dirty ground. A cry I can barely hold back.

When I open my eyes again Aragorn just rises from taking a closer look at this skeleton. “All these years he has lain in front of this gate that he couldn’t open. What might be behind? And why did he want to go there? Nobody will ever know about this,” I hear him saying to Elladan standing next to him. The babble of voices around us raises and becomes more threatening. May the Valar have mercy! What did he just do? “But this is not my way!” Aragorn now cries into the darkness. The murmuring dies down. “Keep your hoards and secrets you hid here in the cursed years! Just haste we demand. Let us pass, and then come! I call you to the Stone of Erech!”

The voices fade completely and out of the darkness in front of us an ice-cold gust of wind putting out our torches. The blackness of the night lying on us now is utter; it almost feels like a mass, a sticky liquid slowing our motions. Aragorn walks ahead, steadily and with determination. I can hear his quiet steps and stay close to him. I wish I knew how long we still have to walk.

The darkness seems to suffocate me and the voices of the dead haunt me. Did they want to tell me something? Do they know anything about my family, my fate? A cold shudder is running down my spine. Hopefully this will be over soon!

 

Am I mistaken or can I indeed see a small strip of grey light seeping through this ever-lasting darkness? Not only the rush of water have I heard some time ago already, now there is light also. Apparently we are returning to the world of the living again. A few minutes later I blink into the dim light of a setting sun. The mountains lie behind us. According to this logic somewhere in front of us must be the sea.

After the long night under those mountains the dim evening light appears to be bright to me. Blinded I blink and at first have some difficulties to remember where we actually are. Well, we are standing at the upper end of a narrow valley. Next to us is floating a creek I have already heard in the caverns before. If I remember Aragorn’s earlier statements and my own geographic knowledge of Middle-earth right we shall now follow the path running down the valley along the creek. Then we will reach the Morthond vale sooner or later.

“Hurry! We must reach the Stone of Erech before the end of this day!” Aragorn cries. Erech? Unless I am quite mistaken Erech is definitely _not_ just around the corner… and this we shall reach before midnight? May the Valar aid us! I mount. At least I know now why we took the horses with us. Erech it is, then… I am expectant what other areas of Middle-earth I am supposed to see before the end of this war.

 

When we finally stop on top of a small hill, I am completely exhausted. All of us are standing round a huge black stone. It must have been set here ages ago for it is sunken into the ground up to the half. This must be the Stone of Erech Isildur has brought here from Númenor, according to the legends. It is almost as tall as I am and looks scary. Very scary.

Aragorn is standing erect next to the stone ball and talks to the Dead. I try to follow his words but I am so tired. I have to endeavor not to fall asleep standing as I am. As strange as it is I am not affected by the horror of the Dead that seems to have taken hold of everyone except Aragorn and myself. The only thing I feel is dead tiredness and I only want to sleep. Luckily, as soon as Aragorn shows the apparently simply black banner to the Dead they silence at once and seem to accept him as their leader. The atmosphere calms a little and I do not hesitate to lie down into the soft grass and close my eyes. Shortly after, I have fallen asleep.

Dawn has not quite come yet; the sky to the East above the Ered Nimrais does not yet show a single stain of grey and yet we have to continue our journey. Aragorn is afraid we might eventually reach Pelargir too late, when the fleet from Umbar might even have reached Minas Tirith ere we were able to stop it.

Our host must be dreadful indeed: All villages we pass on our way are empty; people flee before us if they see us approach in the distance. When we have already reached Lamedon and are near Calembel the Dead even want to overtake us. But Aragorn draws his sword and makes them halt. I gaze at him in admiration and feel a stirring in my heart. He was indeed born to be a King and a Leader of Men.

The whole day we ride, and our horses are the only ones to be even more exhausted than we are, and still Aragorn urges us to make haste. The fear that we might come too late and everything would be in vain still has hold of him. Therefore, we ride through the night.

The next morning, no sun rises, and dark clouds are covering all the sky. Only now I mention that even last night the stars were veiled and we rode in complete darkness for the last few hours. It is almost noon when the first signs of twilight seep through these clouds. Legolas suspects this darkness to come out of Mordor and to be another device of Sauron to gain another advantage in this war. Without the sun his armies are no longer dependent on the night when they want to move… or even make for Gondor and the battle for Minas Tirith.

Thanks to the horror radiating from our ghost army we are at least not kept by any living soul, nobody dares to stand in our way. The only thing I could call advantage at the moment…

After some hour’s ride through the twilight we cross the rivers Ciril and Ringló. We’re nearing our goal. Soon after the complete darkness descends again. I am almost glad about this; it somehow seems easier to bear than the weak twilight in which the very air itself appears to be brown and thick.

All of us are on their limits and if not for Aragorn we all would long have laid down in the next ditch and slept for some hours. But our leader drives us further on, mercilessly. If our horses would collapse with exhaustion – which does not seem so unlikely anymore – he would certainly lead us on by foot towards Minas Tirith. And yet I wonder for how long I will be able to endure this further.

 

When the next dawn is upon us we reach Linhir. And here we meet battle – or at least something similar to a battle. It must have been a battle before our arrival, yet the Men of Umbar fled before us as well as the gondorian defenders. The only man not fleeing is Angbor, Lord of Lamedon. His armor is bloodstained, the red liquid even drips from his blade. He tells us that Sauron indeed tries to conquer the important harbor of Pelargir and by the way also draws some of Gondor’s forces to the South rather than to the defense of Minas Tirith. But now the lockstep is broken and the Host of the Dead drive the Corsairs towards the sea. Angbor will gather as many men as can be found and make for Pelargir after we have passed.

This evening Aragorn decides to rest for the night. I am relieved and demount. As soon as my head touches the ground I am soundly asleep.

Legolas wakes me when it is still dark. I am a bit confused at first, and still deadly tired. Aragorn still worries for the capital of Gondor and gives orders to make haste. He doesn’t pay any attention to us three. Legolas gives me some Lembas. Thankfully I nod at him but we have no time for even a short conversation: As soon as Gimli starts making some of his jokes about Legolas not being allowed to do his hair this morning we have to ride on towards Pelargir.

Another day and another night we drive the enemy before us. Finally we reach the harbor. Another brown dawn lies heavy upon us and in this dim light we can see the giant fleet of Umbar: fifty great ships at least and many more smaller ones. On Aragorn’s command the Dead pass us noiseless and make for the harbor. Soon after we can hear the cries of horror down in the harbor. The Corsairs are put to flight without even fighting.

Soon after the Men under Angbor’s command arrive. Aragorn demounts and orders us to free the captives on the ships, so we make for the harbor. The captives are mainly men of Gondor who are also willing to help us further. When Legolas, Gimli and I return from the harbor to our horses we see Aragorn again. Our friend is standing in front of the King of the Dead and talking to him: “Listen to the words of the Heir of Isildur! I hold your oath fulfilled. Go back and disturb the valleys no longer. Go, and find peace.” The King of the Dead steps forward, breaks his spear and throws the pieces to the ground right before Aragorn’s feet. Then he bows low before our King and leaves. The whole host of grey shadows follows him.

They disappear into the twilight like dust scattered by the wind. In this moment I become aware of the real battle still lying before us. We have not reached Minas Tirith yet, our army is only a little more than 2,500 men strong at least and our defeat is very likely. I feel ill and sit down into the soft grass. I am tired, discouraged and on top of all that Aragorn is ignoring me. The only one I have fully trusted after Míriel’s death doesn’t care for me anymore! Well, of course, we are at war and he surely has more important things on his mind than caring for a crying woman, and yet… it does not justify his behavior!

After all the ships are prepared by Angbors men. Legolas, Gimli and I remain on the hill above the harbor for a while. The former slaves have volunteered to row the ships up the Anduin as soon as they are ready. Perhaps we might even reach Minas Tirith in time (in Gimli’s opinion we will). But I do not pay much attention to my friends’ talk.

I rest my head on my knees and my fingers play idly with the amulet around my neck. After a while Legolas notices my discomfort: “Are you well, Lúthien?” I take a deep, but shaky breath. “Yes, yes… just feeling a bit tired… and… well, a bit sick maybe.” Carefully the Elf touches my forehead. “You have no fever.” I sigh. “It will be better soon, do not worry about me.” He gives me a strange and concerned look before he smiles warmly at me: “You know, we will always be there for you, my friend.” “As I will be for you,” I answer and hug both the Elf and the Dwarf carefully. “Thank you.”

As soon as we entered the ship I laid down and fell asleep, totally exhausted. Now it is morning again, but still it is dark and we do not have any wind. The former slaves do their very best; still forty-two miles are not a small distance to cover. Meanwhile I am expecting to revenge the people who have died defending the city, but I don’t think we might make it in time. I will never surrender, that’s for certain.

Standing at the rail, I look down into the murky water of the Anduin. The surface is smooth like polished stone: no wind might aid us reaching the capital of Gondor. With a sigh I rest my head on the rail and close my eyes. A sudden wave of nausea overcomes me. I press my eyes shut in an attempt to fight it. “Hey Lúthien!” Legolas! Company was all I wanted right now.

I draw a shaky breath and think about an answer when he notices my face. “Are you all right? You don’t look so well,” he states. Drawing another breath. The nausea slowly passes. “It is… I’ll be okay,” I manage after a while. “’tis just… at the moment… I worry a lot about the battle ahead of us. ‘bout the war…” Bad excuse, I know. However, I don’t want to show any signs of weakness. As a woman, being accepted by the people around me was hard enough for me.

Luckily, he picks up the thread: “Do not despair! Isn’t it said: Often hope comes forth when everything seems lost?” He smiles at me, and then looks out at the river again. I give him a doubting look. Where does he take his optimism from? “I do not think we have much hope for victory. But I will fight nonetheless,” I sigh. When he looks at me again there is more respect in his eyes, almost awe: “You know what, Lúthien? I almost envy you. You are a strong woman. You have reached much in your life and yet there is still so much before you. If you want to, you’ll be able to achieve everything. You are brave and courageous. Seldom I have seen somebody using their sword as brilliantly as you do, Lúthien. And you are beautiful. You will reach everything you want, I am sure of this.”

I blush. “Thank you, my friend.” For some hours we simply stand there, silently watching the dark shore passing, until nightfall.

Far to the north we can see a red light coloring the clouds from beyond. Aragorn suddenly appears behind us. “Minas Tirith burns,” he states quietly. I can hear how sad this makes him. His city is burning and in all likeliness we will not even reach it in time to save anything. My heart wants to go to him, embrace him, comfort him, but I can’t do this. Not after him ignoring me completely for the last week. If he wants me to care for him he should rather start caring for me. And if he wants to break up he should have the guts to tell me!

It is almost midnight by now. I am tired and just about to leave Aragorn and Legolas on their own when suddenly wind rises. The wind comes from the south and as soon as we have set sails, the ships make their way much faster towards the North and Minas Tirith.

When I wake up, the sun colors the foam at the bow of the ship in brightest white. It is a _real_ morning today; the sun is rising and the wind has scattered the thick layer of clouds. The light of the sun also gleams in Legolas’ eyes who is now smiling at me hopefully. My friend is standing next to me, checking his bow and arrows. I take some deep breaths. Despite the wind coming from the south I can smell fire. We have almost reached Minas Tirith and the battle. Perhaps there might be not everything lost yet. Perhaps we have some luck at last.


	24. The Hands of a Healer

We reach Harlond at the third hour of morning. The battle is raging at the Pelennor fields. Minas Tirith is besieged but not utterly destroyed yet. The Riders of Rohan have reached the battlefield before the city could fall and are now trying to break the siege.

When the black ships approach, the fighting seems to freeze for a moment. Then the hordes of the Dark Lord attack again with renewed power. Of course, they expect reinforcement to come in those black ships of ours.

Unfortunately, it is not _their_ reinforcement. Aragorn rises his banner again. In the middle of the night, when we were at Erech, it appeared to be pitch-black. Now, in the first light of morning, I can see the silver glistening on the black velvet, forming a beautiful tree with seven bright stars and a crown above it. I hold my breath. The signs of Elendil! For more than three thousand years nobody has dared to wear these insignias openly, but now Aragorn claims his heritage officially.

The Rohirrim must have seen the banner, too: they cheer and rise their weapons.

With a loud cry I draw Anglachel and leap off the ship. No Orc is safe before my wrath. With satisfaction I notice the trap our enemies have gotten into: They are caught between the Rohirrim from one side, our troops from the other side, and the men attacking from the city have trapped Sauron’s forces between themselves and the river.

Being under attack from all sides, I still do not pity them. Sauron is the one responsible for this war. And another thing he is responsible for is the death of my whole family. Either he or myself will be destroyed in the end; at the moment it might actually be me winning the upper hand.

Anglachel is gleaming like a blue flame above the battlefield; a flame that won’t diminish; a flame of hope.

 

* * *

 

 

Together with Éomer, Imrahil and Aragorn I ride towards the city. The battle we have won, against all odds. I am filled with pure happiness to be alive, even though I still cannot really believe it. It feels a bit unreal.

Apparently Éomer has forgiven me my lack of feelings for him, he was the one introducing me to Prince Imrahil, commander of Minas Tirith for the time. The Prince, by the way, is quite nice, too. Well, at first he was a bit surprised to meet a woman at the battlefield, but now he has as well accepted me.

There is just one thing that makes me sad: Aragorn still does not pay any attention to me. We barely talk to each other, and when we do, he hardly manages to meet my eyes. I have had so much hope to finally meet someone who is affected by me, who cares for me and even loves me, and now…! Even Imrahil has already mentioned the differences between the two of us but hesitates to ask me about this.

However, I cannot endure this silence between my former best friend and me for long. Under a pretext, I leave them, turn my horse and ride off across the plain. I have no destination, only want to get away from everybody, to be alone. The setting sun dips everything in blood.

After a while I mention tears running down my face. By the Valar, what is the matter with me? I mean, Aragorn surely has matters that are more important on his mind than a relationship – especially a relationship with me. I should eventually stop hoping and leave Gondor as soon as this war is over.

Yet there is another voice inside my head, and unfortunately a very stubborn one, telling me that the two of us would make a great couple. He might be the future King of Gondor, but after all I am the Heir of Idril Ancalimë and Queen of the Atharim, descendant of Elendil just like him. If it was about the rank, he could marry me without any difficulties… _if_ he wanted to marry me after all.

In the name of all Valar, I finally have to accept that he is not interested in me! If we win this war I will go back to the North and live there on my own. I am used to solitude and I will be able to bear this life till the end of my day! Even though I certainly will miss someone... one with dark hair and stormy grey eyes... 

By now I have reached the shores of Anduin. It is painted in red; not only by the sunset but mainly by the huge amount of blood spilled today. The stench of blood and death makes my stomach turn. I take faster hold of the reigns and turn back towards the city. Perhaps I will find Legolas and Gimli there.

 

I don’t have to look for long; apparently they were looking for me also. At first I am quite happy to meet my friends. But only until I hear Legolas’ call: “Lúthien! Aragorn has sent for you! I shall tell you to make for the Houses of Healing with all speed!” Oh, nice. If he has something to tell me, why not here? And if he has nothing to tell me, why does he send for me after all?

But still, my curiosity aroused. “How can I get there?” I ask, trying to make my voice sound as uninterested as possible. “The Houses of Healing are in the sixth ring, quite far up actually, and close to the Citadel. Just follow the Main Road, you’ll find it.” I nod to them thankfully and agree to meet them later for some dinner. Then I pass the gates and try to make my way through the partly destroyed city of Minas Tirith.

Legolas was right, from the Main Road the Houses of Healing are hard to miss. On top of that, Gandalf is standing before the door and calling at me: “A little more haste would be appropriate, Lúthien, daughter of Idril! It’s a matter of life and death!”

With a sigh I demount and follow him into the house. Éomer and Imrahil are here, too; and Aragorn is kneeling on the floor. He is holding the hand of a man, and I sense at once that this man’s life is hanging by a threat. Apparently Aragorn is aware of that, too, because at my approach he looks up to me asking for help. “Lúthien! Thank you for your coming. I fear I cannot help Faramir, he is too far gone already. But you are the Queen of the Atharim. If there is someone able to save his life it is you.”

I feel dizzy. Now it is _my_ responsibility. What if I should fail? I take a deep breath and force myself to concentrate. If only Míriel could be here! She was much better at healing than me. She would have known what to do.

I kneel next to Aragorn and take Faramir’s hand. His breathing is shallow and labored. I can almost feel the life leaving him. But at least I know what has caused this illness: the Black Breath. I search through my memories. What did my mother tell me about injuries done by Nazgûl? Athelas, of course, but with that idea Aragorn has already come up. What can you do if the Kingsfoil does not help?

With my right hand I carefully cover the healing arrow wound on Faramir’s shoulder, close my eyes and concentrate on everything I have learned so far. But my brain feels empty. 'No!' panic grips hold of me, 'Don't let go! Faramir, you must not leave us now!' I try to keep him with the living by sheer will power.

Suddenly I can feel something warm on my chest. When I open my eyes again, I see something glowing beneath my shirt. The amulet! A soft green light radiates from the engraved symbols and the stone feels rather hot now. But before I can give it a second thought about the meaning of this, I feel Faramir taking a deep breath.

He first looks at me, then ar Aragorn in confusion. Then he speaks quietly: “My Lord, my Lady! You have called for me. I come. What does the King command?”

This last sentence was unequivocally addressed at Aragorn. I am glad for that. While the two of them talk quietly to each other I get up and discreetly ask Gandalf: “Do you need anything else from me? Or can I leave?” He shakes his head: “Éowyn and Merry he was able to help with Athelas. Faramir though had already been too long under the shadow.” He sighs. “If you wish so, you may leave now,” he says then with a smile.

I am already halfway out of the door when Aragorn comes running after me. “Lúthien! Wait!” I turn almost reluctantly. I am tired, I want to go and find a bed or something similar, and I have an appointment with Legolas and Gimli already. “What is it?” I ask shortly. Again, he is unable to meet my eyes: “I wanted to thank you. Without your help this city would not have a steward anymore.” Oh… so Faramir is the Steward of Gondor? Nice that somebody finally decides to tell me about this.

I take my time and have already reached my horse before I answer: “Right… no problem. Consider it as my duty, as Queen of the Atharim.” With this I mount and want to leave the city as fast as possible, but he quickly adds: “Tomorrow in the morning there will be a meeting of the military leaders. I would be honored if you joined us.” I only shrug my shoulders. We’ll see. “Don't know, maybe. So, see you. Good night.”

With these words I finally leave him and ride off into the cool, starless night ahead.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning Gimli wakes me with a dig between my ribs. “Lú, the meeting of the Leaders is about to start in some minutes. And Aragorn told me to wake you so you could join us.”

Groaning I manage to sit up. I feel ill and my head aches. And this without a single glass of wine! I sigh. Certainly, I simply stayed up too long, but Legolas, Gimli and I had some great talks about several quite amusing topics.

Another nudge, this time with the handle of an axe, hits my side. “All right, all right, I’m on my way already!” I sigh in defeat. If Aragorn wants me to come I will be there, even though I cannot see much sense in it. At least I will not be doomed to boredom by doing nothing because Legolas and Gimli will be at the meeting, too.

Quickly I put on my chainmail and cloak, then I make for the tent of the leaders. I don’t have to search for long: Aragorn’s banner, the white tree with the crown and the seven stars, is flowing in the wind and leading me the way.

Shortly after Legolas, Gimli and myself, Éomer and Imrahil arrive. They sit down next to Aragorn without hesitance and the three men start discussing with Elladan and Elrohir. From time to time Gandalf and my two friends interfere in their arguments, yet all seem to be heading for the same direction.

I better try to keep right out. After all, I do not think that anybody would _really_ listen to me, so I can as well just wait for the outcome. I might still exercise my veto on this then. For now I have enough to do with breathing slowly and steadily and trying to calm my stomach. It takes a while, but slowly the nausea disappears.

After some time I even get up and join the men who are studying a map and apparently have already made the first rough outlines of a plan. They want to make for the Morannon with an army and challenge Sauron to give Frodo a chance. Brave, no doubt, but quite hopeless.

“Do you honestly think Sauron will feel challenged by our few troops?” I ask. “Yes, he will,” Aragorn replies. “Just look around: The names of the people knocking at his front door are mightier than an army fifty thousand men strong. He will do everything to prevent the return of a king to the throne of Gondor.”

His words sound resolute, and yet I catch a glimpse of fear in his eyes. Right, this king would be him, and so Sauron would hunt him with bitter hatred. “We must walk into this trap with seeing eyes; with courage, but little hope for ourselves. It can well be that we will perish in a black battle far from home and all living lands. And even if Barad-dûr would fall it is not sure that we will live to see the new age of this world. But I consider it our duty. And better to fall that way than dying anyway – and it will happen, if we only sit here and do nothing – and in our last moments know that there will be no new age.” Aragorn sounds so determined that I could almost find some hope in his words for myself.

So be it. Maybe Frodo will indeed get his chance to destroy the One Ring if Sauron’s whole attention is drawn upon us. “Who now is ready to follow me on this dark path?” Aragorn asks around. All of us support him and want to go with him. Aragorn looks at me sternly: “Lúthien…” I interrupt him: “I will go. I have to go! If I can help to overthrow Sauron it is my duty to be part of this army!”

“Ehhr, actually I just wanted to suggest that you should stay here to care for the wounded. Here you were safe – for some time at least.”

What please? I shall remain in this city? Because this was _safer_?! Did he not just point out that the whole world would be conquered by the Dark, sooner or later, if our mission should fail?

“What!? Are you mad? Of course I will come with you!” I spit at him. “For a whole _yén_ I am fighting for justice and against the servants of the Dark Lord, and now that I am just about to achieve my goal you want to tell me not to take part in the decisive battle?! Éomer could die as well, or Legolas, or even you! Just because I am a woman! This is so unjust!”

There is an awkward silence. I look at everyone, angrily, my eyes almost burn holes into the men around me. Nobody dares to answer. “Oh, just go ahead and do whatever you want! I will come with you to the Black Gate by all means, even if I have to walk there on my own!” With these words I storm out of the tent and leave them alone.

Whatever they might discuss, unless they drown me in the Anduin I will try and come with them. I have to help and overthrow Sauron. This is the only thing I owe my family, and I have to fulfill it.


	25. Revelation

Only two days after the discussion we left the city. The same day we passed through the ruins of Osgiliath and destroyed Minas Morgul. Seven thousand men we are leading towards the Black Gate. Seven thousand! It is too bitter to laugh about, but if I would not be so dearly affected by the outcome of this battle, I would have.

Five days have already passed since we left Minas Tirith and this morning we finally left Ithilien and came to the desert-like landscape north-west of the Ephel Dúath. I don’t even expect to return anymore.

I have stopped dreaming about Míriel, my fate or anything else, and even the fear before my own death has faded. Whether I will ever see her again, who can say?

 

Every morning Aragorn insists in asking me if I would not rather like to turn back to Minas Tirith and there help the wounded or whatever. And every morning I insist in going on. Death in battle seems the most honorable thing I might accomplish yet.

But today I do not argue with him for long. Today I feel really sick. Again. I silence we ride on, and I try my very best to fight back the nausea – in vain. After another mile I am kneeling in the ditch, vomiting. Dammit, what’s the matter with me?! I still have no fever, but my healer’s instincts tell me that something is pretty wrong. Not only because of this queasiness in the morning; I do feel different in general.

“Lú, are you all right?” Legolas has demounted and is running towards me. ‘What a question!’ I think, ‘It’s quite obvious that I am _not_ all right.’ Still, I nod, wash my hands and my face and then get onto my horse again.

Despite my efforts to concentrate on something else, again and again my thoughts wander back to the questions about my health. So after a while I give up and try to diagnose myself. No fever, no other signs of any illness, except the nausea in the morning… and I haven’t bled for almost two months.

Wait… I haven’t bled!?! For the blink of an eye everything goes black. This would be an explanation for all of it. First, I am hungry after not being able to eat for weeks after Míriel has died. Then the queasiness, mostly in the morning, and now my menstruation. Blessed Valar, it is likely that I am pregnant! By Aragorn!

In desperation I look at him. Only three weeks ago he had confessed that he would love me. Now, when we both might ride to our deaths and I might possibly bear his child, he doesn’t want to have anything to do with me anymore. Tears are burning in my eyes but I blink them away. It must be hardly possible to feel more lost and lonely.

 

Evening has come, the last evening before battle. I am lying a little bit aside from my friends on the stony ground. Everyone except the guards and me seems to be sleeping.

My fingers are playing with the bond around my neck and again I start talking to my sister, or rather to myself: “So, Míriel, what do you think? Will I still be here, tomorrow night? Or will I be dead? And do you think the next day will be the last?”

I do not quite know what to expect. We all have no clue where exactly Frodo is. If he is close to Mount Doom already, we have a reasonable chance of success. If not, everything will be in vain. Not only will we lose the battle, also Frodo will surely get no second chance – if he gets a chance at all.

There is another important question I have to ask Míriel: “What do you think, should I tell Aragorn about it?”

My fingers now stop playing with my necklace. Instead my hand carefully and protecting lays itself over my lower abdomen. I can feel nothing yet. But of course, if I indeed should be pregnant it is for three weeks and no longer.

On the one hand, he is the father. He has a right to know. But on the other hand… either he doesn’t love me anymore, or he is simply too occupied with everything else to care for a relationship. And in both cases this knowledge would only be an additional burden for him.

So I decide to keep my pregnancy – if it is one at all – secret for the moment. Coming to think of it, I really do not know if I should be happy or horrified at this. Somehow, it might be nice to have a child. To have a family again… but there is still the question about what a certain father of the child will say to all this.

I have to suppress a sob. This all is so inconvenient! My hands clutch tightly around the hilt of Anglachel, I curl up and start crying softly. To be honest, I am terrified. I have never even considered being a mother. Why do bad things always happen to _me_?!

It takes a while until I calm down again. Who knows what’s going to happen. Maybe I am not pregnant at all. Maybe I will lose the child. I really should stop worrying about a future I cannot change. Maybe I will even die tomorrow, and then nothing does matter anyway. This certainty somehow comforts me and I finally fall asleep.

 

* * *

 

 

The next morning is bitter cold. A chill wind is blowing from the north and getting stronger and stronger the closer we come to the Morannon. I feel sick again, but not quite as bad as yesterday.

I am calm, despite the battle ahead. Come hell or high water, I am going to die anyway, be it now or tomorrow or in a year. I will take things as they come, no matter what the results may be. **** ~~~~

Gandalf has asked me to join the delegation riding to the Black Gate. Like Legolas, Pippin and Gimli I should be a representative of my people. I mean, he must be joking: my _people_? It is likely that I am the only one left of the Atharim at all.

But well, I have joined them. And now we are negotiation with the ambassador of the Dark Tower, the Mouth of Sauron, himself. The negotiations are boring and unnecessary. Both sides know from the beginning that there will be no compromise, and especially no agreements about any terms. So after maybe half an hour he retreats and the Black Gate finally opens.

Suddenly I am aware that this will indeed be our end. Behind the Gate is waiting an army, thirty thousands strong at least. We _are_ going to die. This will be the end, our end as well as the end of this world. After this day Darkness will fall and no new age will ever be.

Nonetheless, I draw Anglachel resolutely from its sheath. Despite a feeling of futility I am strangely confident. At least this here has a meaning, no matter what result will come from it. It will show that the West was at least strong enough to try and fight for its freedom, and did not willingly surrender.

Our weapons and armor are glistening in the sun. So this will be the last sunny day the world will ever see. For a moment I regret it that I could not look at my beloved northern forests for one last time. They always were so beautiful in spring. And I also regret that I never will be able to see my child growing up, no matter what its father would have said.

And while I still cling to tears, I can feel a sudden laughter welling up inside me. All in all, I am happy for all I was able to experience, and I am glad to be standing here, today. I thank the Valar for meeting Aragorn and the short but wonderful time we were able to share. And, strange as it may sound, I also thank them for my reunion with Míriel. She has died in honor. And at least I was allowed to see her again, one last time, after all those years.

With a smile on my lips I look up to the sky and the few white clouds up there. I regret nothing anymore, no, I am even glad that everything has happened the way it did and the way I now look back at it. Yes, I am ready to give my life in this battle.

 

“ _Barad_! Die, you spoon from Mordor! You ugly orc breed, you revolting creature!” The huge Troll standing in front of me remains unimpressed by the tirade I shout at him breathlessly. He only grunts indistinctly and then attacks me.

I have a short look around me. All my friends – better: all my allies – are quite far away. I am fighting a lost cause in the middle of the enemy’s army. And now this Troll has to attack me! I am a swordsman, this alone makes it pretty difficult. As an archer you really have one big advantage when it comes to Trolls. And I am alone, another big disadvantage when fighting against an opponent twice my own size. Yet I accept the challenge – what else could I do?

I get up my sword and manage to block the first blows quite well, even try some counterattacks. But everything I try has no more effect than some few scratches on its hard, grey-greenish skin and some stains of black blood on my blade. The Troll’s blows are hard and, unfortunately, quite precise. I will not be able to stand his attacks for long.

With a cry I try another hit, but he blocks it easily. At least his blade has a notch now, while Anglachel’s blue gleaming blades remains sharp and smooth. But having the better sword is pretty cold comfort when I am still unable to kill him.

Another comfort, but almost as cold, is Legolas calling my name, but apparently from the other side of the Dagorlad. If he was here, I might have a chance, but… It does not take long until the Troll manages to throw me on the ground. He raises his sword.

I already try and struggle to my feet when suddenly there are two yellow-feathered arrows are sticking out of the Troll’s mouth. Legolas! And then I realize that the dead Troll is about to fall – right on me! In shock I am unable to move. The heavy, grey-green and well-armored body buries me beneath it.

I cannot breath. I hear a crack and feel a sudden, sharp and horrible pain. Some of my ribs must be broken. A strange thought flashes through what is left of my awareness: I don’t want to lose my child! But then I remember my situation and that it is not really necessary to worry about the future anymore. Slowly I lose consciousness.


	26. New Life

When I wake up I am lying in the soft, green grass and a bright blue sky is above me. I can see flowering trees and the warm air is filled with a sweet, calming scent. Did I get to Valinor? This is quite close to how I have always imagined the Blessed Realm, even though I had never expected to get there, being only a mere human. 

Then I see Legolas’ concerned face looking at me. So he has died, too? But he should be in the Halls of Mandos then… now I am confused. 

He turns away and I hear him call: “She’s awake! Gimli!” and now I realize that against all my expectations I must be still alive. Not only that Gimli would never be in Valinor, also Legolas would certainly not wait for me to wake up if we were there. 

From far away I hear Gimli’s unintelligible answer. Legolas turns back to me: “He’s with the Hobbits. Do not worry, all of us are fine – even Frodo and Sam.” 

He laughs when he sees my astonished reaction. “How?” I finally croak. “I’ll tell you later. First you should try and eat something,” he smiles at me. Then he gives me a careful hug. 

“I had never forgiven myself if you had been squashed by that Troll, because of my stupid arrow shot,” he murmurs. “You were unconscious for two days. Most of your ribs were broken, but they have already healed, don’t worry.” H

e sighs and lowers me back down onto the soft grass. “I’ll go and get you something to drink. And you really should eat,” he adds and then disappears from my field of view.

 

I close my eyes again. Two days since the Downfall of Barad-Dûr. 

When Legolas returns he makes me sit up and lean against one of the trees around me for support. For a moment my head spins, but after some deep breaths I become accustomed to sitting and my changed point of view. 

Yet when I start eating it only takes a few bites to make me feel sick again. “Please, Legolas… I can’t…” I sigh and close my eyes again. Legolas now sighs, too: “You have to eat, Lú.” I only shake my head and try not to throw up. 

It doesn’t help. Legolas carefully holds back my hair and soothingly caresses my shoulders till I sink back into his arms. “Shall I go and get Aragorn?” he asks. “No!” 

Surprised by my harsh reply he turns me around to look into my eyes. “Why not? What happened between the two of you, Lú?” I open my mouth to answer his question, but I only manage to sob. 

Legolas holds me carefully. “Shhh…Lú… it’s all right. Do you want to tell me what happened? You don’t have to.” It takes me some minutes to get my voice under control again, and still some more minutes to decide whether I shall tell him or not. “You don’t have to be ashamed for nothing. I'll keep it a secret if you wish,” my friend now whispers. 

And so I decide to tell him, come what may. “You know, Aragorn and me…” I hesitate. “Legolas… I am with child.” My fingers clutch around my amulet. 

But his reaction surprises me: “I know.” I stare at him in amazement. “You know? But… how?” He lowers his gaze. “I am sorry for this. I did not mean to insult you or… But since that day at Pelargir… There I felt… Lú, I can feel its feä.” 

“You knew this for almost two weeks? And you didn’t tell me?!” “I told nobody, honestly.” He blushes. In this moment I know that I have found a real friend in the gentle blonde Elf. I do not think that anyone else I have ever known – except my sister – would have kept this discretion. “Legolas, you’re the best friend I’ve ever had,” I tell him with a bright smile. 

He gives me a shy smile in return. “Now that this is set… don’t you think you should try and eat something?” I groan. “Honestly? I don’t think I will be able to…” He interrupts me: “I will bring you some tea to settle down your stomach. Then it should be better.” 

He already wants to leave, but I hold him back: “Will you tell Aragorn about it?” I do not know what I shall hope: that he tells him, or that he does not. The Elf just grins: “Oh, I think you should tell him yourself.”

Then he leaves and I close my eyes again, this time in defeat. I wonder if I will ever find the courage to tell Aragorn about this child; I am too afraid what his reaction might be. And I don’t want to force him to live a life he perhaps never wanted to live. 

 

* * *

 

 

Some days have passed. We are still in Ithilien and still I have not spoken a single word to Aragorn. Another thing I have started to worry about: my future (again, I know). 

Now that I did survive that battle I am no longer sure about what to do. I could stay in Gondor, but what for? Aragorn has shown no sign of interest in me. And I would miss my home. I also could return to the North... but I would certainly miss _him_. 

Yes, I have to admit that I still have feelings for him… pretty strong feelings, actually. And I have to think about the child, too. What could happen to it? Living in Gondor would be much safer. L

egolas has already offered me to come with him, to live in Mirkwood, but I am not so sure about that either. Legolas is my best friend, and he always will be. But to be honest, I cannot imagine living among Elves for the rest of my life. 

Luckily we will stay in Ithilien for some more weeks. This gives me enough time to think about the possibilities and finally make up a plan.

 

Four days after and with Legolas’ help I have finally made a decision: I will ask Aragorn if I could become a Guard of the Citadel. So I can stay close to him, but if he would not like to have a relationship anymore it isn’t too suspicious. And if I should decide to go to Mirkwood or the North I could leave his service at any time. So this morning I search for him. 

Aragorn is in his tent, alone, and welcomes me with a bright smile. “Lúthien! I’m so glad to see you! I wanted to talk to you, but Legolas told me you were not so well…” I interrupt him: “I came to ask something  of you: I would like to serve in the Tower Guard. Would this be possible?” 

Slowly the smile leaves his face. “And… this is _all_ you came for?” he asks quietly. I lower my gaze. “Yes. Nothing more.” I hope I haven’t asked too much of him… 

When I look up again he appears to be almost sad. Like something inside him is broken. “Well… why not? Would you like to be my personal guard? Then I had someone I can trust, after all…” He tries to smile, but I mention the tears in his eyes and the hurt in his expression. W

hat did I just ask of him? Why did it hurt him so much? These questions spin around my mind for the rest of the day. Did I insult him? Or… this must be the reason: He doesn’t love me anymore, but still he must feel responsible for me. So he gave me this job, but he must fear that I could make up any false hopes. This sounds like a quite possible explanation for his reaction. 

By the Valar, I didn’t _want_ to hurt him, honestly! It might be the best to leave his service at once, but this would be against my pride. Now I have begun it, so I should better finish it, too. Three months I give myself. If after that time our relationship has not changed, for better or worse, I will leave and go back to Rhudaur. But for now I will wait and see what is going to happen.


	27. Confessions

For two weeks now I have been Aragorn's personal guard when one day, he asks me to ride out with him. A trip through Ithilien, just for fun and as friends.

I have no duty today, so I ride ahead and enjoy the beautiful landscape. After some time we reach a small lake in the middle of a deep pine wood. It is about noon and the land is burning with the heat of the late spring sun. Not a single cloud is to be seen. "Just go ahead, I will see to the horses," Aragorn tells me and disappears between the trees.

The water is glistening in the sun. I feel the sudden desire to go swimming, so I take off my clothes and wade into the icy cold water. Only when all warmth seems to have left my body I turn and swim back to the shore. Aragorn is standing there, but tactfully looks away until I am fully clothed again and tell him so. He smiles at me warmly: "You're swimming like a fish. How did you learn it?" "Well, my brothers, my sister and I often went swimming in summer. We had a small lake, similar to this one, close to our village."

I sit down into the grass and he lies down next to me. Despite the early hour I feel very tired. The scent of grass and the forest in the sun is almost intoxicating. I lay down, close my eyes and slowly drift away into sleep.

But when I am just about to doze away I feel fingers caressing my hair carefully, and a soft, but sad voice murmuring: "And yet I will always love you." In amazement I open my eyes: Aragorn is now sitting close to me and looking at me, his eyes warm and loving, and yet full of grief. "You... you love me? Still?" I whisper. He nods. "And I will never stop loving you, even though you..." He stops himself.

 My eyes widen. So... this all was one big misunderstanding?! My hands clutch around my amulet. "Aragorn, I... I have to tell you something. After the battle of the Hornburg, you know..."

He interrupts me, carefully taking my hands in his own. "Lúthien, I really love you, with all my heart. I still love you as much as I did then. If I did anything you didn't want, I am very sorry for it, honestly. I will never touch you again if you don't want it. I know I didn't treat you so well lately. You do not deserve someone who can't even explain what he thinks and feels to the woman he loves." I nod and he continues: "For this I am sorry, too. And if you want to leave now and make for the North I can fully understand you. Please, leave, if this is what you want.

"But I want you to know that all of this was only to protect you. If we had lost this battle I, as the King of Gondor, would have been executed mere hours after our defeat. I wanted to spare you this fate. After the battle I was far too busy to see you, and when you finally came and asked for a job in the Tower Guard, you did not mention our relationship with a single word. And then I thought _you_ had forsaken _me_. I am so sorry for everything that has happened. Will you be able to forgive me?"

I can see the tears in his eyes and I can feel them burn my own heart as well. He is really sorry for this, and I also understand his reasons now. Still I think he could have told me about this, but I feel like I could actually forgive him. So I say: "There is nothing to forgive, really. It is just... how shall I tell you best?" Helplessly I look at him.

"Please, Lúthien, don't get this wrong. I would love to have you with me all the time unto the end of the world. But if you want to leave me now, after all I have done to you, I understand you. I really acted like a fool and I should have known better than to ignore you for all this long time. Please, if you want to go back to the North do so, and don't let me hinder you again. You are free to go wherever you like, if this was what you wanted to tell me." I take a deep breath and close my eyes. "Well, I fear, it's too late for that now. Aragorn, I am with child... your child... _our_ child."

I bite my tongue in tension. Now he knows. And I fear his reaction. Then suddenly I can feel his warm hand on my abdomen, caring, protective. "A child?" he whispers before I can feel his lips brushing mine. I feel his tongue seeking entrance and allow him to pass. Soon there is nothing except the hot, intensive kiss we share and our hands trying to get rid of what clothes we wear.

Until the dream comes to my mind again, the dream that has brought us together in those days. I open my eyes and look at him. "Looks like I finally have reached the light, have I not?" I whisper with a bright smile. This makes him laugh. "What makes you think so? After all, you have not become the Queen of Gondor yet."

I look at him, in confusion at first and then, when I realize the meaning, in disbelief. "Say again," I laugh. "Lúthien Nienor, do you want to marry me?" "Yes! Yes of course I will!" I whisper. Then there is nothing more than our hands and lips, burning searing holes in our skins, making me feel one with the man I love and I am going to marry.

 

We reach the camp just before nightfall. Legolas awaits us anxiously: "Where have you been? Aragorn, we were worried about you!" Then he mentions the happy smile on my face and shakes his head. "You told him, didn't you? So, this also explains where you have been so long..."

My fiancé and I grin at each other knowingly. "Well, as long as you enjoyed yourselves..." Legolas shrugs his shoulders and helps us to look after the horses.

Then Aragorn and I are alone again. I yawn: "Well, I am tired... perhaps I should go to my bed and... we'll see each other tomorrow, won't we?" He pulls me into his embrace and whispers softly: "Why don't you stay with me...?"

I can hear the smile in his words and entangle my fingers into his hair: "Would you really want me to...?" I can feel him nod; and some minutes later we are lying in his bed, close to each other, embraced by the darkness.

"So, what are you going to do tomorrow?" he asks me quietly. "Don't know," I reply. "Standing guard in front of your tent I expect." "Really? I think I've got a better task for you."

Now I am curious. "You should work together with me. As my Queen you should be able to lead a kingdom, don't you think?" "You mean... I will be your equal? Nothing about 'The Queen's just there for producing heirs and looking nice for representatives'?"

"What? You seem to forget that I come from the Dúnedain Rangers. Did you really expect me to think that way?" He is openly surprised. "Have we not always been equals?"

I silence him with a thankful kiss. "From all the people in Arda... I am so glad to have met _you_." His hand caresses my face. "So am I." A few moments of silent kissing pass between us.

 

* * *

 

 

It feels like a dream, so fast pass the few more days in Ithilien. Soon, we leave the fair land, and at the 30th Gwirith we make the last camp before the gates of Minas Tirith. The next day, Aragorn will become the King of Gondor - officially.

But it is another thing that makes me even more nervous: After the coronation we are going to _marry_. More than ever, I wish that my family had been able to share this wonderful, unique moment with me. If fifteen years ago someone had told me that my mother and my sister wouldn't be at my wedding... I had never believed him. But I also had never believed him how fast my life would change.

When Legolas enters the tent, I am sitting on the floor. My gaze is empty, staring at some point I cannot really see; a single tear running down my cheek.

"Lú!" Legolas sighs when he notices my condition. "What is it?" My fingers trace the pattern of leaves and stars on the scabbard of Anglachel. "I miss them so much, Legolas!" I whisper quietly. "I miss them so very, very much!"

A quiet sob shakes my body. "From tomorrow on I will have a new family. We will be married and we will have children... One should expect I would feel happier, knowing this. And yet it only makes me feel worse. Makes me miss them even more."

Carefully he touches my shoulder. "Come, Lú. You will never forget them; they will live on... inside your heart, they will always be with you."


	28. Epilogue

**Epilogue**  

The first day of Lothron was a day of joy to the people of Gondor. Their King, who had already led their armies in war, was being crowned. Elessar Telcontar, former Ranger of the North, had freed their lands of the evil of Sauron.

They celebrated not only the coronation, but also the simple fact that they were still alive. They celebrated their victory.

It also was a day of joy to their king: It was the first day of Lothron when he finally married Lúthien Nienor, daughter of Idril. The Queen wore no dress, nor did she braid her hair in the traditional way; she rather wore trousers, a sword, and her long, dark hair open.

It took some time, but in the end, her people accepted the strange Queen from the North who preferred rather the battlefield than the comfortable life in the Citadel. For the counselors and other politicians, it took a while longer to get used to a woman in politics. But this is a different story and shall be told another time...


End file.
